#sure is a shame he's so tormentable though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatwishfulthinking · 2 months ago

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a wretched flower

my last one shot skipped viktor giving head… rest assured that is not something i plan to let happen often… and here, neither do you

wc: 3.5k

summary: after years of avoiding his feelings for you, viktor has finally turned a corner— though you’re still unsure if he’ll stumble back into the bear trap of all-consuming work. not too keen on neglect, you decide to make sure he’s sticking to the right track. newly established relationship. f!reader

warnings: smut, desperation, dirty talk, choking

btw— i kind of have no idea what’s going on here. dom!vik, sub!vik, then angst, then metaphors, then clichés, then more sub!vik, and straight smut, and a little fluff? idk this has been making me insane for like a month

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Clothes are left in a trail, leading from the living room into the bedroom. You're both on the bed, limbs tangled as you cling to each other. He's whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Things, of course, you’d have appreciated to hear scattered across the day instead of sewn together and adhered to one single moment.

It was a reality that you hoped for at the beginning of your relationship, only to soon declaw each finger from, one at a time, until you let it go. After yet another dinner at your kitchen island alone, accompanied by the somber tap of an expectant fork, heating up the remenants for a stony soul when he finally decided to cross through the front door. Things had been better; you basked in his attention for some time. It was only recently that he had backslid into the same depths that pooled at the most tormented part of your mind.

Improvement wasn’t linear, of course, but god, could the ebbs and flows of it all be nothing less than excruciating. A garden, tended to and watered, would not continue to flourish if suddenly neglected. And oh, were you in trouble if came winter’s first frost.

He moans softly, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours, nipping at your earlobe. "I could do this with you for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough." His kiss is stinging with the sweet affection you’ve sought for fruitlessly for days now.

You grab his hips and needily move them faster for him. You knew he wouldn’t last this way, and the dichotomy of not wanting it to be over and desperately needing to take what you could, in the fleeting moments you had it, festered low in your abdomen.

Another moan is blooming on his lips, and you register it in blissful slow motion. "You're so impatient, my sweet girl.” It’s a breathless, low sound, reverberating light into that dark place in your brain. He relents, his hips snapping with intensity. "Like this?" he groans, the bulb in his throat tremoring deliciously as it his voice travels up his esophagus in offering.

“My sweet boy” you whine back insistently at the use of the name: The very phrase he had decided to comandeer, your favorite endearment for him. Shame on you for sharing it with him, because the cheeky thing loved it so much that he was compelled to make it yours instead. You wrench his hand off of your waist, placing it on your neck.

The sly smirk that plays on his face is one of prideful understanding at your nonverbal prompt. He grips your throat gently, his hand wrapping around the eloquent column as he applies a slight pressure. His gaze is one of communication, searching, silently asking, Is this what you wanted?

“Harder, love,” you declare, because after ample days of not enough, too much was more than welcome.

A tightening feeling at your trachea. The intentional shift of his position. The subsequent heightening the speed of his movements, it all hits you like three successive strikes. “This okay?" he asks, his breathing ragged but his voice weighted by feathers as he monitors your reaction.

He leans in, hand brushing over your cheek as he were thumbing layers of dust off a forgotten bookshelf. "Look me in the eyes," he commands gently, and you realize that as your face twisted and contorted under his, he had been absorbing the tiny details that spoke to something else battering at you. A somber note between syllables of your words, the very corner of your mouth, where your lips discolored at the transition to skin, curling downwards ever so slightly. Subtle, but there all the same.

When you meet his eyes, he settles at a conclusion to the very research he had been conducting from aereal view. He presents a hopeful, apologetic solution— it pains him to think of all the time you’ve spent utterly hollowed by his absense.

"No matter how busy I might be, you're always on my mind.”

The reassurance swaths across your collarbones, fizzling out delightfully somewhere at the peaks of your shoulders. A sharp grin appears across your face. “I know it’s worse now.” A calculatedly vague statement, of course, baiting him.

He furrows his brow, slightly concerned by the change in your demeanor, and oh, the poor thing falls into your trap. "What are you talking about, love? What do you mean it’s worse now?" he asks softly, releasing your neck and letting tentative fingers pass across your brow, pinky pressed to your temple.

You laugh mischievously— he was completely correct in his sentiment, and for this you were well aware.

“You couldn’t stop thinking of me… compromised, before,” you grab his neck instead, causing his jaw to jerk forwards. “But now that you’ve had me, you need me. You need this, love, and now it’s even harder to wander from because you know exactly what it’s like.”

His eyes widen, mystefying golden caches that you’d love to curl up inside of. His bleached clavicle warms with something that resembles sun kisses, washed with a soft flush.

He swallows hard, his gaze locked with yours. “That is something I cannot deny,” he admits, almost solemnly, eyes pacing back and forth pensively to find the subtext. "You're right. It's harder now. The lab, the separation, it is… challenging.”

You purse your lips, still holding a bit of teasing bregrudgement. “Tell me you love it then, Viktor. Speak to me, for god’s sake, forget all the pleasant—“

"Your pussy is divine," he cuts you off, the words rolling off his tongue, and it’s almost without second thought. Someone so pretty uttering such filthy words like a confession is a sight to behold, and your breath catches abruptly.

You bring a hand to his face, and he closes his eyes, his exhales growing stronger at the thought, offering more. “I dream of it, fantasize about it, obsess over it. I stare at the chalkboard and try to conjure up the taste of it in my mouth."

“You must be parched,” and you sigh passively, as if isn’t the most seductive statement his eardrums could manage with currently.

His eyes fly open and he groans loudly, heat coursing through his body. You can feel the boiling froth in his stomach seeping through his skin into yours where you lie against one another. How enjoyable it is to peer at him now, avoiding eye contact, staring up at the cieling and squeezing his eyes closed in heavy blinks.

“You’ve been rude, baby.” You tut.

His chest swells with a large inhale before slowly looking down at you once again, raising an eyebrow. You can’t miss the immistakeble hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Have I? And what did I do exactly?”

He leans in closer, his hand trailing up the side of your leg, pressing a thumb into the dip below the jut of your hipbone. "I'd hate to think I've offended you, love."

”I’ve just noticed,” you lift your chin and angle it upwards towards him. “You skipped what you claim to crave.”

“Sounds like a terrible oversight on my part." He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with playful corruption.

He leans in, lips ghosting against yours, amber irises bleeding into one another centimeters from your eyes. A painting set to still, knocked sideways by the soft underbelly of your spite, just before it could dry.

"Allow me to rectify that," he whispers, before gently placing a kiss on your collarbone, starting his descent.

You’re shaking your head as you watch him move towards your legs. ”I don’t know, I can’t help but think you don’t appreciate it.” Appreciate me. “Is that it?” You tease, feigning mock sadness, the real version holding real space in the real lonely moments you’ve endured without him lately.

He looks up at you in an emotion so passionate it may be offense. “Love,” he murmers, his voice low, now swinging his head back and forth as well. "You know that simply isn’t true. Don't make the mistake of doubting that." He’s nudging your legs apart, and the sick, scorned thing in your mind jumps at the opportunity to interject.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you.” You grab his chin, pulling it away from where his face has become situated between your thighs so he looks up at you. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you discover what it tastes like after the fact. You think you deserve that, hmm?”

He stills, and his brows furrow in dismay. You swear you see his lips beginning to tremble. "No, please," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. He sucks his cheeks in and bites, creating a pronouced hollow on either side of his slim face.

You scan his expression, completely enthralled in the fact that you’ve never seen him do that before, but he’s still trying his best at persuasion. “Please, I want to taste us, together. I do.”

You nod, acknowledging his plea, your grip on him firming slightly, fingertips pinching and propping him up by the jaw, snared like a spider’s catch. “You forgot all about it, my sweet boy. I can’t help but think you’ve been negligent, and just started fucking me. That doesn’t seem fair,” you tut once again.

He whimpers, his body trembling without inhibition now. "I'm sorry," he chokes, his voice ragged, spitting out fragments, as if otherwise he would be forced to swallow splinters chipped from feeble teeth. “Never that. I couldn’t forget. I simply lost track of my thoughts. I got carried away, I got distracted, I’m sorry."

It may be a bit deranged, but you see yourself frolicking around, victorious, in your mind’s eye. There, you are clutching his reassurance— though product of an entirely different conversation— in a tight, delighted fist. Despite it all, your expression remains stoic.

"Please, just one taste. Just let me have one." There’s a low urgency in his voice that you haven’t heard before.

You spread your legs wider, immediately yanking his chin back up away from you as he tries to drive for a lick. His neck is now rendered taught again, poised back up towards you from your own manipulation. “I think that’s disingenuous, love. I think you know that one taste isn’t enough for either of us.”

He moans in frustration that somehow he’s saying all the wrong things, scrambling for any words that will earn clemecy. You can see the gears turning, conjuring up a response— another of which, you know, and perhaps he does too, that you will easily meet with the tortourous fortress of your acidity. “You're right," he gasps hopelessly, giving in, and he makes sure to echo himself over and over.

“Repetition doesn’t denote sincerity.” You patronize, to which you can nearly see beads of sweat born above his brow. He buries his face into your inner thigh, shameful, disheartened.

“I want you to look,” you say, your grip loosening, allowing his neck to relax, throwing a leg over his shoulder, a coaxing heel following the path of his spine up and down.

Arousal spattered across your thighs, parted and reddened from him fucking you. Swelling like a flower at daybreak. He desperately wants to put his tongue where his cock had just been and—

You cut his thoughts off. “Why did you sabotage yourself, my love?”

He looks up at you, his eyes wide and bewildered. "Sabotage myself, darling?" he murmurs, his voice dragging with grief. "I don’t understand. What do you mean I sabotaged myself?"

You give him a stern look, heel settling against vertebrae for a moment while you readjust your expression. “Is it not my responsibility to make sure you take care of yourself? That you don’t starve yourself of your wants, of your needs? I forbid that. Though your actions suggest that this isn’t something you need.” You draw a jagged inhale.

“Or rather, that I am not.”

And the bitter words finally find soil to take root here, stretching upwards and outwards, a wretched flower themselves.

He shakes his head vehemently, his eyes clouding with the pain of finally understanding. “No, please, don’t say that.”

You break, reverting back to the discouraged version of yourself that you’ve had to be for weeks, and you’re gazing at one another, palms stretched outwards, showing your hand, each card a compliment to the other’s misfortune.

“Do you doubt what I feel for you?” And he says it as if he fears the letters that comprise the words themselves.

“No,” you say meekly, and his nose wrinkles slightly, not entirely convinced.

“It—“ he sucks in a sharp breath. “Consumes me while I’m away. You. I’m never without you in thought, you need to know that. Please, I can’t have you thinking otherwise. You don’t understand, I used to sleep in the lab, because that was what would consume me, but now, every night, I come back. I come back to you. I know it isn’t much, but come back.” His eyes search yours with a wildness to be heard.

You swallow at the guilty knot of bile in your throat, tear ducts miraculously stirring awake for duty.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “You’re right,” There it is again. “It has been worse lately— thinking of you, in all regards. Just as my absence has worse. It’s ignorant for me to think that simply picturing you is enough. I know it isn’t. I need to be present, I need to just be with you.”

Here he is, Viktor, taking a sledgehammer to those walls, the ones you didn’t use mortar to build because you hoped that he would knock through them in the first place. Here he is, Viktor, crushing that wretched flower under the sole of a worn dress shoe, hurrying it into a paper bag which he takes to the lab and promptly incinerates so that its pollen is to never spread again.

His gaze softens, thankful, when he observes that the downwards draw of your lips, where they discolor at the transition to skin, have pulled back to equilibrium. Subtle, but still there all the same. He takes another breath, now slow, much more assured.

“And I will be, just, please.”

You give him a weak nod, you find no skepticism for what he’s saying, and so, you take him up on his offer, you do not speak, you just be.

You sigh softly as he presses his chin to your mound, looking back up at you with adoration in his eyes, rubbing your thighs and sides and pulling your legs apart, before pressing a soft kiss to your clit. His eyes shine with desperation, one that lusters with the earnest need to convince. “Now, may I?”

A bashful smile is what he gets, a hand cupping his face, which is the most you can give while all of the solitude-driven uncertainty dissipates from your soul.

He pushes your legs apart, settling between them, his mouth hovering over your folds, bathing it in warm, billowing breaths. He plants soft kisses against your clit.

You grab desperately for a fistful of his hair.

He gasps, his mouth already parted, tongue lolling, desperation turning into something much deeper. His tongue is hot, the suction of his mouth nearly unbearable, he’s being sloppy, abandoning his practiced nature simply for this.

He pauses and looks at you, his eyes locking with yours, his breaths coming in sharp pants against you. "I need you," he shudders, his voice ragged, bearing the weight of deeper meaning.

There’s something so endearing about stopping what he’s doing to ask for more when he could just continue and take it for himself, but god, he’s worked himself up now, your foot twitching against his back.

“Look at me,” you murmur, and he stops abruptly mid stroke, tongue out and glued to you, massive needy eyes, hazy with both sickening lust and pleading awe. You stroke his temple with your knuckle, murmuring his name breathlessly, and letting out a strangled cry as he cages his arms around your legs and pulls you up to his face, the back of your thighs locked against his collarbones, simultaneously held up and pinned down under his lips. The sensation of fabric tugging under your spine catches your attention, your gaze moving to angular shoulders, down his back, decorated with quaint little moles. You jump from one point to the next, where you rediscover the dimples at the base of his spine, just above where he’s moving his hips in slow, uncoordinated circles against the sheets. Hands, satisfied with how your thighs have found balance on his shoulders, shift, thumbs coming to massage where your skin meets your core, pulling it apart softly so he can lick his own whimpers into you, nose nudging at the underside of your clit.

Utterly helpless, the two of you, as you tug and chocolate tendrils and every muscle, every tendon, every capillary goes stiff.

He moans, his hands grabbing at your thighs and pulling you even closer, giving you no escape. He's panting and sweaty, hair stuck to his brow, ears slightly flushed. It’s just about the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Please love," he whines, his voice ragged and urgent, “Please, love, please come. I need it. I need to.”

His face nods rapidly as he speaks into our flesh, and you cry out, his tongue lapping now with a preciseness to cultivate your orgasm and care for it like it’s precious. And your body feels like it’s accelerating, through all the seasons, the biting of winter in the jolts of adrenaline coursing in between your thighs, the mugginess of summer in his hot tastebuds. His dark eyelashes flutter like birds migrating, and his noises are like the groan of an old tree’s branches resisting torrential rain. His eyes are as captivating as golden hour, the sun begging you to follow it down the edge of the earth so that it can illuminate you all over again at the next hemisphere, pleading that you come with him. So you do. Hard, and he follows suit, straight into the duvet.

You’re stretching for him, reaching out and staring until your hands wrap around his shoulders and you inadvertently dig your fingers into his armpits, pulling him up on top of you and holding his waist with your thighs. He nuzzles into your neck, bracing a few moments too late for the shockwave. Your stroke his hair and tell him it’s okay, and you nearly want to sob, trembling against one another, willing your nervous system to still. And he nods into your throat, soothing you back, clutching at you tightly, whispering it’s okay back to you softly.

He grounds you without thinking or trying, just being, adorning your neck with tender kisses. You kiss his temple back, tilting your chin down against your throat to look at him as he draws his head to the side to peer back up at you. And you’re faintly aware that the angle of your face is abysmal, probably, but you don’t care.

“Are you okay?” You both ask, simultaneously, and your arms tighten around him affectionately.

You both chuckle when you speak at the same time, and it’s such a silly, wonderful thing, a small, soft smile budding on his lips. He’s so still, simply watching you, like you’ve just watered his soul.

“Love…?”

“Yes, my sweet?” You whisper quietly, pecking his nose.

He shushes you softly, presses a finger against your lips. “Let me. Let me tell you…”

You laugh at whatever strange force has corralled you two into pleasant delirium.

“Tell me.. what?” You murmur.

He whispers, slowly bringing himself up onto his elbows, his breath warm against your cheek, “Everything.. just...” he trails off and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You rub his temples gently with your thumbs, fingers stretching over his ears and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know, love. You know that I know,” you coo. You let out a bashful, affectionate giggle as he rolls to the side, bringing you, your legs, still twined around him, with you. You kiss his mouth softly, then the spot between his eyebrows. “Do you know? That I also feel.. everything?”

“Yes�� I do,” he sighs, and his eyes close, grazing the tip of his nose up and down the bridge of yours. It’s all so nonsensical, but the mutual understanding prevails.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t even attempt to find the words” You whisper, feeling some gravitational force pull your face right into his neck.

He nods, his hand coming up to swipe your hair out of the way, exposing the flesh of your shoulder, and he kisses you there, trailing kisses across your collarbone.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, just one last time.

You copy him, kissing his collarbone back, then his shoulder. He kisses your pulse point, so you do the same. When his lips land on your nose, it only takes a few seconds after they retract for yours to find his. And you continue this little exchange, the only language you need, back and forth, until drowsiness retires the two of you for the night. In your dreams, you weed out vines and thorny stems with gloveless fingers, vowing to only let the good things to grow.

#viktor x f!reader #viktor smut #viktor x female reader #viktor fanfic #viktor fluff #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #jayce x you #viktor x you #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor #viktor nation

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xespa · 10 days ago

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AFTERGLOW ✶ HUH YUNJIN 🍒

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝖥𝖤𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 huh yunjin x f!reader ⋅ 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳 1,967 words ⋅ 𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖱𝖤/𝖳𝖠𝖦𝖲 sub!reader, roommates au, soft dom!yunjin, fluff, explicit smut

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 ⟳ alcohol consumption, both reader and yunjin are bisexual, small mention of “slut-shaming” (not from yunjin tho), yunjin is WHIPPED, overstim, fingering, oral (f. rec), multiple orgasms, spanking

“It’s like…everyone’s so fucking boring nowadays.” Yunjin rambles on as she takes another sip of her wine. “I just can’t find the right one that matches my vibe.”

You nod, “I feel. Literally everyone I talk to is lame as hell, they always rather stay in and watch movies than go on an actual date, which is fine sometimes…but all the time? Hard pass.”

It’s 2 am on a saturday night and neither of you had anything to do, you proposed going out clubbing but Yunjin wasn’t in the mood for that kind of night. She was more of a laid-back, chill type of girl while you were always out late partying and coming home with someone new every weekend. It’s not like Yunjin didn’t have guys (or girls) over either, she was just more discreet about it and made sure you were gone whenever she brought anyone over. She felt like she wouldn’t be able to face you again if you ever heard what she was doing.

“That’s ‘cause they’re just trying to fuck, oldest trick in the book y/n.” Yunjin chuckles as you lightly smack her arm. “What— it’s the truth! Anyone with eyes would wanna get in your pants.”

Well, maybe that explains why you’re always getting texts at 2-3 am asking to “come chill” even though you know how it’s going to end and you fall for it every. single. time. Maybe that’s why your last hookup called you “for the team” to all his friends, you fucked on the first “date” but only because he showed you cute pics of animals he rescued (curse you for being such a softie). But generally, it didn’t take much for you to want to sleep with someone because you had sexual needs just like everyone else, except you were a girl and that wasn’t very “ladylike” of you. That didn’t stop you from actively seeking potential sex partners though.

“Ugh, don’t say that! I’m just more of a lowkey person.. I don’t mind netflix dates but damn, ya girl could really use some wining and dining once in a while.” You express frustratedly. It’s been a while since you’ve been taken somewhere nice and the thought of someone planning a cute outing together made you yearn for a relationship even more.

Yunjin’s brows lift in confusion, “do I not already do that for you every day?”

She’s constantly cooking for you, soon as you wake up breakfast is made with your favorite—pancakes and fluffy scrambled eggs! She’d also cook you dinner once you got home from an exhausting day of work, she was the perfect roommate you could’ve ever stumbled upon.

“You do— but that’s different..” Your voice trails off, thinking of any excuse as to why but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

“How? Am I only your maid that cooks and cleans for you? Not worthy of anything else?” She pouts dramatically, of course she’d get offended by something so little.

“Yunnie don’t do this right now, you know I appreciate you and your sweet gestures all the time.” Sighing as you sink further into the couch, you decide to spill more about your not so eventful sex life.

“It seems like most guys only care about getting their nut then dipping, I barely finish if it at all after..” You realize how embarrassing that sounds to admit but you had to confess this to someone, you don’t even know why you continue to torment yourself with this kind of treatment.

Yunjin shakes her head in disbelief, appalled at the sad truth of your current dilemma. She too however, faced a similar issue at hand. She can’t seem to find anyone that’ll keep up with her crazy high sex drive. “That sounds truly awful, what the fuck? I’d have you on orgasm number five just from my fingers alone.”

Holy shit, did she really just say that? The wine is most definitely getting to her now. The room got real quiet for a second.

“Y-you would?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes at her.

She wanted to retract her statements out of embarrassment but you didn’t look put off by her advances at all, instead intrigued. Her cheeks turned rosier, very unexpected of you to put her on the spot like that but she was the one who opened pandora’s box to begin with. “I mean… yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” She replied, biting her lip as she gauges your reaction to see if what she said was okay. “I’m more of a giver than receiver anyway, I love giving head it’s my specialty. I’d leave you with that afterglow if you let me babe.”

Well now you were going to have to find out, you can’t just let her make such bold claims like that without having the proof to back it up first. You’ve always found your roommate extremely hot but you never tried anything out of respect for her boundaries, she did the same but her urges to make a move on you kept growing as you complained more and more about your past experiences— she wanted to show you how it was really done.

Yunjin was determined in making sure you have a great time. Your pretty body splayed under her with your backside facing upward, giving her the view of a lifetime. “Fuck…” she curses under her breath, her digits sinking into your dripping core, greedily taking all of her in. You muffle the sounds of your moans by covering your mouth, you had a habit of doing so since you didn’t want to wake Yunjin whenever she was sleeping while you were getting it on.

“C’mon you don’t gotta be shy babe, be as loud as you want with me.” She husks, giving a spank to your left cheek leaving a visibly red handprint. Hands sliding up the curves of your body, caressing you as she pumps her fingers deeper. “Mmh.. fuck— Yunnie keep going.” whimpering out pathetically as your walls clench around her. She adds another digit to the mix, watching them disappear in your cunt while looking at your perfectly round, plump ass. Never in a million years would she think she’d be doing this to her roommate of all people.

You felt a knot tying in your stomach from the pleasure, grabbing onto the leather couch tightly—feeling yourself getting close already. “Sound so pretty when you moan, don’t stop.” She encourages sweetly, “I’m making you feel good, aren’t I?” Sounded more like a statement rather than a question.

“Y-yes, think I’m gonna cu— oh fuck!” Eyes roll to the back of your head as feel yourself come undone on Yunjin’s fingers, creaming all over them as she continues fingering you, thumb swiping harshly over your clit to help ride out your high. The overstimulation was too much to handle for you, bratty whines escaping your lips as you just couldn’t take anymore.

“On your back now.” She orders, producing another spank to your rear, you squeal from the contact but get up and lye on your back as she told you to do. “Open.” Yunjin groans impatiently for you, slipping in her fingers coated with your milky essence. You suck them off one by one, getting a taste of yourself while looking directly in her eyes. God…you were going to be the death of her.

“Mmm.. so fuckin’ hot babe.” She smirks, planting a soft kiss to your lips to get a taste on your tongue. She needed to have more of you. Kissing down your chin, neck, collarbone, chest, all the day down to your navel—faint blotches of red appear on the bruised skin; creating a beautiful masterpiece on your body. More kisses are pressed into your soaked inner thighs, trailing her lips up to your entrance as she licks her lips before she begins feasting.

“Don’t hold back on me baby, be as rough as you want.” She coos, lowering her head to flatten her tongue, licking a long, slow stripe against your throbbing slit.

“Shit!” You almost cry from how good she feels against you already, bucking your hips into her mouth as she sucks on your puffy bundle of nerves. Eyes looking up at you fiercely while she watches you shake and writhe under her. “So good, so goood. Just like that, don’t stop please!” You continued grinding your core on her face, making a leaky mess all over her. She could care less though, she’ll happily drown in your juices any day.

Her fingers return back inside for extra stimulation but you end up crying out more, the feeling has your head spinning intensely. You don’t know how much more you can possibly take but you firmly pull on her hair for leverage, tightly tugging it not caring if it hurts since she said not to hold back. Her free hand caresses your thigh gently, flicking her tongue rapidly on your clit and lapping up your wetness, you taste like a dream.

“Oh my god…” you mewl slightly above a whisper, you suddenly forgot how to use your voice. Her mouth was making you feel more than amazing, better than anything you’ve felt before. You feel bad for all the guys and girls you fucked in the past because they definitely won’t be getting a call back from you now.

“Taste so sweet baby,” she mutters before shortly going back to what she was doing, “mmmm…” she hums against you and the vibrations leave you shuddering. Another orgasm erupts out of you as you scream her name louder, spasming and shaking under her touch. This time your release squirts out onto her tongue, licking up every drop, even the left over excess on your thighs.

She presses a kiss to your abused clit, lightly dragging a finger over it to rub in circles, making it swell up again. “P-please Yunnie, no more… n-no more.” You whine again and again but she just pretends not to hear you. She’s not going to stop until she’s completely satisfied with the end result. The end result being you looking a total fucked-out mess.

“Shut up. Stop talking.” Her eyes darkened, giving you a menacing glare. You don’t utter another word, you wouldn’t dare test her right now.

She slings your leg over her shoulder and pushes you in closer, teasing your sensitive entrance while curling her fingers inside, she could do this all day if you’d let her. Your breath shortens, digging your nails deeper into her skin from the bliss you feel— you were overly sensitive and felt another one nearing your way. She wasn’t even using her tongue on you anymore, she was just so good with her fingers alone it was enough to have you squirting all over her.

And you did just that, again. “That’s right baby, cum all over my fingers like a good girl.” She praises, feeling the tightness of you wrap around her. Your body was so numb. Panting, moaning, vision getting blurry as you coat her fingers with your cream for the third time in a row. She pulls them out slowly, letting you drip all over the couch, chuckling with endearment of you. It almost didn’t feel real with the way she was making you cum so easily for her. She had a natural talent at this it seems. You felt weightless, as light as air in her touch, a radiant beam of ecstasy lingers within you.

“That was…incredible.” You gush, ruffling her already disheveled hair, “I haven’t felt like this in a really long time.”

Yunjin kept smirking; boy you were in for so much more tonight. “Mm.. just relax pretty, ’m not even close to being done with you yet. Gonna have everyone know who’s my name once we’re finished.”

#le sserafim smut #le sserafim x reader #yunjin x reader #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin smut #huh yunjin smut #le sserafim yunjin #huh yunjin #le sserafim x fem reader #wlw #kpop smut #kpop x reader #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim x you #yunjin x you #kpop imagines #yunjin imagines

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Use Your Words

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: in which your boyfriends show you that there’s no shame in using your safeword

Warnings: 18+ content and use of a safeword

Based on @uramakimochi’s request

Note: the fact that I literally manifested the Charlando podium while writing this? I wish team orders didn’t play such a big role during the race but I will take the results and not look a gift horse in the mouth 🫶

Charles and Lando are both rummaging through their suitcases, looking for neckties as you wait on the bed. After their double podium finish earlier today, the three of you decided to have a little private celebration back at the hotel.

“Found one!” Charles holds up a red silk tie with a mischievous grin.

Lando chuckles, pulling out a striped tie in shades of blue. “This’ll do the trick.”

You bite your lip in anticipation as they approach you with the neckties. Charles slips behind you, gently gathering your wrists and using the tie to secure them together. You shiver at his warm breath on your neck as he works.

“Too tight?” He whispers. You shake your head slightly, unable to hide your smile.

Lando kneels in front of you, looping his tie into a makeshift blindfold and carefully covering your eyes. “Can you see anything?”

“No,” you murmur, plunged into comforting darkness. Your senses sharpen, focused on the sounds of their movements and the occasional brush of fingers against your skin.

“Perfect,” Lando’s voice is low. You feel the bed shift as he rises. “We’re going to take such good care of you tonight, princess.”

A thrill runs through you. The three of you agreed on a safeword when you first started seeing each other, a sure fire way to get any driver’s attention and slow things down. But tonight you have zero intention of using it.

Charles’ lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear. “You looked so gorgeous standing below the podium, vibrating with pride. I could hardly keep my hands off you.”

You let out a shaky breath as his mouth blazes a trail down the side of your neck. “Ch-Charles ...”

“Shhh,” he soothes, nipping at your pulse point. “No need for words yet.”

Lando’s hands glide over your thighs, pushing them gently apart. You automatically part your lips in a soft gasp. Fingertips tease along your inner thighs, drawing maddeningly close before retreating.

“So responsive,” Lando marvels. You can’t see him but you know he’s grinning. “I haven’t even properly touched you yet and you’re already squirming.”

Your cheeks flush hot. You want to retort but all that comes out is a quiet whine as Lando’s fingers finally make contact. He chuckles darkly at your reaction.

Charles slips one hand beneath the loose hem of your top, palm skating over your ribs and up to cup your breast. You arch into his touch with a small moan. His thumb brushes over your nipple, adding delicious friction through the thin fabric of your bra.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles in approval. “The way your body sings for us ...”

His mouth finds yours, tongue instantly seeking entrance that you grant with a whimper. The kiss is deep and hungry, leaving you dizzy and panting when he finally releases your lips.

Lando’s long fingers have been steadily working between your thighs, stroking and teasing your increasingly slick folds. You buck your hips without meaning to, desperate for more substantial contact.

“Please,” you finally manage to beg. Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Patience, darling,” Lando tuts, though his own breathing is growing ragged. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder for better access, leaning in to lick a broad stripe right through your heated center.

You cry out sharply, tugging instinctively at the tie binding your wrists. The heat of Lando’s mouth and the soft lap of his tongue are glorious torment. Charles smothers your keening noises with another searing kiss.

Lando groans his appreciation against your tender flesh, lapping and sucking insistently. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls. “Been dreaming about this all day ...”

Arousal is throbbing through you like a second heartbeat. Charles’ lips abandon yours to trail down your throat, his other hand cupping your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingertips. Every nerve is exquisitely alive, buzzing beneath their skilled touches.

Lando’s tongue flicks over your throbbing clit and your back arches off the bed. Your loud mewl is half pleasure, half plea. He grants you no reprieve, mouth working enthusiastically to take you apart piece by piece. Charles captures your lips again, stealing the cries from your throat.

You’re quickly soaring higher, spiraling toward that glorious precipice. Their murmured praises and scorching caresses urge you ever onward. But just when you think you’re about to tumble over the edge, Lando’s mouth abandons you entirely.

You nearly sob at the loss, hips frantically chasing that delicious friction. Charles soothes you with gentler kisses, murmuring praise against your swollen lips. “So good for us, mon ange. You’re doing beautifully.”

You dimly feel the bed shift again, and then there’s a warm mouth trailing kisses up your inner thigh. Charles, blessing you with more delicious stimulation. But just when you think he’s going to grant you relief, Lando’s seeking lips find your other thigh.

“No, no please,” you beg between panting breaths. If they keep denying you for much longer, you’ll go mad. There’s a soft tsking noise and you feel Lando’s fingers combing through your hair. Charles continues lavishing attention on your shuddering flesh.

“Use your words,” Lando murmurs huskily. “What do you need, love?”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry. “Please just … I need ...”

“Tell us, mon amour,” Charles prompts, lips brushing your hipbone.

There’s really only one way to circumvent this maddening tease. You suck in a breath, steadying yourself.

“Box,” you force out. “Box box box.”

All movement instantly stills. Your heart is thundering a rapid staccato, waiting with bated breath for them to respond to the agreed safeword. You bite your lip, instantly second guessing your decision.

Fingers stroke along your cheeks, Lando’s touch infinitely gentle. “Sweetheart,” his normally playful voice is low and soothing, all traces of teasing vanished. “Are you hurting? Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head minutely, abruptly blinking back unexpected tears of frustration behind the blindfold. “No no, I just … please can I just ...”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lando hushes you. His lips lightly brush your forehead. “Take a deep breath, pretty girl.”

You obey, inhaling shakily through your nose. Charles presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek.

“Talk to us,” he urges softly. “Don’t be afraid to voice your needs.”

“I w-want ...” you stammer, toes curling. “I need you both so badly, please. No more teasing. I just want you to make me come.”

There’s a pause, and for a heart-stopping moment you fear you’ve ruined the mood entirely. But then Lando lets out a low groan of relief.

“Look at you using your words so prettily,” he praises. Charles chuckles softly beside you, nuzzling against your jaw. You feel the bed shift again as Lando moves into position.

“We would never deny you, love,” he murmurs. “Not when you ask so sweetly.”

His long fingers slide home, curling and plunging into your dripping heat. You cry out at the sudden stretch and glorious pressure. Charles lays claim to your mouth again, greedily swallowing your moans.

Lando’s palm fits perfectly against your bundle of nerves, grinding in time with the thrust of his fingers. The spark of pleasure races through you, building and spiraling rapidly higher. Distantly you hear your own broken whimpers bleeding into Charles’ mouth.

“That’s it, ma belle,” he growls, lips trailing over your cheeks and throat. “Let us hear how good we make you feel.”

Lando curls his fingers, nailing that sublime spot inside you over and over until you begin to shake apart. Your cries rise to a sobbing keen, back arched taut as a bowstring.

“Come for us, darling.” Lando’s command is heated, fingers sinking deep. “Let go.”

You shatter with a high wail, rapture cascading through you in scorching waves. Lando strokes you through it, coaxing every last spasm of bliss with his touch until you finally slump boneless against the mattress.

Strong arms envelop you, tucking you securely against dual heartbeats. Gentle fingers trace your features, brushing away the dampness beneath your blindfold. You’re surrounded with warmth and adoration, coddled by their praise.

“Belle fille,” Charles murmurs, lips finding your temple.

“So perfect,” Lando echoes, stroking back sweat-dampened strands of hair. “Our good girl ...”

You sigh in utter contentment, letting their cherished words soak into your very bones. No matter what heights you reach, they’ll always be there to catch you in their arms.

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babyjinsu · 9 days ago

Text

pairing ; seatmate!sunghoon x fem!reader

warning ; just fluff :3 reader had long hair, now short!

for quite some time, cutting your hair has been a tormenting thought for you.

you’ve had waist-length hair for longer than you could remember but for the past few months… cutting it short—or just cutting it at all—has been in your mind like a parasite. the thought lingered during showers, during hot summer days, every time your hair got caught in your backpack zipper or snagged in someone else’s button.

but it wasn’t just hair for you—it’s you. it was comfort. memories.

and now, it is gone.

you don’t hate it—but you don’t necessarily love it either. when you brush your fingers through your hair, it ends short. your head feels lighter, and you don’t get headaches from taking almost half an hour and more trying to hairdry it.

you keep your head down as you take your seat in class, pulling at the hem of your cardigan and wishing they were long enough to cover your face. people noticed, obviously. while most were kind, you know they didn’t mean it like that.

“oh, you look so cute now! but… your long hair was so pretty,” someone sighed.

“aww, what a shame. it’s going to take a long time to grow it back.” another muttered, pouting as she looked at your shorter hair like a dropped heirloom vase.

your stomach twists at the memory, even though you’d replied and nodded through it all.

you barely hear the chair beside you scrape back as your seatmate, sunghoon, drops into his seat. you don’t spare him a glance, you barely even talk to him throughout the half year of sitting together. he’s just kind of… there.

sunghoon’s just someone who exists within your daily routine.

you shift slightly in your seat, tucking your chin down. your newly exposed neck still feels too bare and naked, like you’re wearing something revealing that’s so-not-you. you’re not sure of having someone sitting so close to you looking at it.

a beat passes. then another.

“... you cut your hair,” sunghoon says, low and careful like he’s testing the weight of his words.

your fingers twitch on the desk, threatening to run your fingers through your strands. “yeah.”

you expect that to be just it. an observation. maybe followed by a hesitant, half-hearted “it’s cute but…” like the others. but then—

“i like it.”

you blink, turning your head almost immediately as it caught you off guard. “what?”

“i mean,” he lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “you look really nice. like, nicer. lighter. in a good way.”

sunghoon doesn’t meet your eyes when he says that—he’s busy flipping his pen between his fingers and you swear you see a faint pink rising to his ears.

you thought he’s done—you want to thank him.

“i always thought your long hair looked pretty too,” he says, voice softer and quieter now, “but i didn’t know you could look prettier.”

it doesn’t sound like a joke, or a backhanded compliment.

you stare at him, stunned silent. heat floods your face so quickly it makes your eyes sting and warm. for a second, you forget about all the people who had said “what a shame”.

you lower your gaze, biting back a smile you’re not ready to show him.

“...thanks,” you whisper, bringing your palms up to your cheeks. it’s warm. it’s nice.

sunghoon gives a tiny nod, covering his lower face with his palm. his lips curve—the tiniest grin tugging at his mouth.

and suddenly, the hair you lost doesn’t feel like an ending—but a beginning to something new.

💭 aw sunghoon's short-official debut in babyjinsu! 🥺 can u tell i have a thing with hair? it's so intimate and i thought i'd write it with sunghoon (i wrote it b4 with sungchan too!) because i just got my hair cut recently!

auwihei i hope with this i can gain more engene friends ;( do expect dark contents with the members haha.............. looks around. LMK IF U LIKE IT IM SO EXCITED I LOVE PARK SUNGHOON OF ENHYPEN!!!!!

#enhypen oneshots #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon drabbles #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #enhypen fluff

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arabella0001 · 19 days ago

Note

Hiiii

Reminder for kakashi x foreign fem story

Please pls 🥺

finally FINALLY i finished

｡˚ fandom: naruto

pairing: kakashi hatake x reader

request scenario: kakashi is falling in love with a refugee civillian who doesn't speak konoha's language

cn: slow burn, lots of fluff, loss of virginity. over 6k words

༄

After the war, Tsunade was more than happy to hand over the Hokage position to Kakashi. Especially knowing just how much he didn’t want it. Tormenting him over and over again with mundane tasks—after all, she knew what it was like to have a mountain of paperwork stacked on your desk from morning to night.

As Kakashi skimmed through the documents, one finger pressed between his brows from stress, he sensed Tsunade’s presence before she even entered. It’s not like he didn’t already know the rhythm of her footsteps.

“What a lovely day to be Hokage, don’t you think, Kakashi?”

You followed her into the office slowly, hands folded in front of you, gaze slightly lowered.

“Ha-ha, really funny, Tsunade. Sure you don’t mind switching pla—”

But the words caught on his tongue as his eyes lifted—at first set on Tsunade—until he saw you, standing just behind her.

Tsunade gave him an almost wicked smile, bringing her hands together like she was about to applaud.

“Today, we have a new visitor. Or should I say… a new member of the village.”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. Who are you?

He couldn’t quite see your face—not until you lifted it, leaving him utterly speechless.

No, he didn’t know you. Hell, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize you if he had. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman more beautiful. Your features were like something out of his grandmother’s stories about angelic beings—not quite human, radiating warmth with every graceful movement, mesmerizing without even trying.

But knowing his nature, Tsunade didn’t catch much of a reaction on his face (well, the half of it not covered by his mask), except for the slight widening of his eyes. She didn’t know that Kakashi’s cheeks had flushed with boyish embarrassment, mercifully hidden. Saving him.

And if his mind wasn’t already halfway to breaking, you started to speak—with a tone so soothing it felt like balm to his soul. He could’ve listened to it forever. Though, oddly, your intonation felt foreign.

You said simply, “Nice to meet you, Hokage.”

Kakashi responded almost instantly, voice flat but carrying a clear eagerness.

“The pleasure is mine.” A short pause. “Who are you?”

As your eyes were still locked on eachother , Tsunade couldn’t help but chuckle, barely managing to snap him out of the trance you’d put him in.

“Don’t get too excited yet, Kakashi. She’s a civilian refugee from the nearby forest. Got separated from her people after the war. She doesn’t speak our language.”

“What?!” Kakashi cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly from how shocked he’d sounded. “Well… that’s a shame. I’ll make sure everything’s arranged so she feels at home here.”

Tsunade answered in a dismissive tone, heading for the door.

“Great. Because I’m leaving her under your responsibility anyway. I’ll only handle her training—her abilities are far too interesting to be taught by anyone other than me.”

But Kakashi didn’t hear anything past the first part. His responsibility? He couldn’t say he was unhappy to hear that. But his primal thoughts responded immediately: How the hell am I supposed to control myself around someone like you every day? Damn it, Tsunade.

You bowed respectfully before following Tsunade out of his office.

Only after you left did Kakashi sink back into his chair, head tilted up as he exhaled deeply, staring blankly at the ceiling.

༄

Kakashi had spent the past few days hunting for a book—any book—that could translate your language into theirs. Not that he cared about the reports piling up on his desk, now doubled in number thanks to his little quest. At least now he’d have a solid excuse when he inevitably asked Tsunade for help.

Or the fact that he’d spent more time reading about your origins than he had with his beloved comfort book, Icha-Icha. Which, frankly, was far more concerning.

He managed to carve out a break in his schedule and made his way toward your group. Kurenai was all smiles (and this time, it wasn’t just because Asuma was sitting beside her, toothpick tucked at the corner of his mouth—a habit he’d picked up to help quit smoking, something he’d promised Kurenai since she became pregnant).

No, her smile was clearly directed at you—you, dressed in something completely unexpected, completely contradictory to what Kakashi had imagined you might wear. A stunning, long dress that looked like it belonged to a fairy. Not that he was complaining—your training clothes, most likely chosen intentionally by Tsunade to distract him even further, already fit you perfectly.

The dark green, form-fitting outfit, complete with empty pockets likely meant for kunai (their weapons stock hadn’t been updated in a month), hugged your body like it was tailored for you.

He struggled to pull his gaze away from you—though you somehow sensed it immediately, your eyes turning toward him first as he approached with calm, measured steps.

Asuma gave Kakashi a slight nod of acknowledgment, accompanied by Kurenai’s warm greeting. Tsunade, hand on her hip, was the first to speak.

“Rough nights, huh?” she remarked, clearly referring to the exhaustion under Kakashi’s eyes—worsened ever since he began researching you far more than he probably should have.

Kakashi just shot her a warning glare, his expression friendly enough for public display, before she continued.

“Looks like our foreigner here has an inclination for medical jutsu. But also… brute force. Ironic, huh? Just like me and Sakura.”

The first one seemed fitting for you. But the second? He couldn’t picture you splitting the earth in two with a single punch. The more he learned about you, the deeper he dug himself into the pit of his barely-contained curiosity.

Still, his voice tried to remain neutral.

“That’s good news.” Then he added, “I found a dictionary translating her language into ours. We’re going to try teaching her to speak it… but also teach ourselves enough to show some respect for her homeland.”

He paused, collecting himself before finally meeting your gaze—those intense, difficult-to-hold eyes—and addressed you, a little uncertain, in your native language.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope we’ll get along well.”

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest—not just because you spoke back, but because you smiled for the first time. He didn’t think it was possible for you to be more beautiful… and yet.

You responded with a hint of excitement, your eyes sparkling sweetly.

“Nice to meet you too! I’ll do my best to become one of you. Thank you for welcoming me!”

Well, Kakashi thought, looks like I’m not the only one who made an effort to learn her language.

His eyes softened, reflecting your smile with one of his own—genuine, though subtle.

Neither of you noticed the way the others were watching, a knowing look in their eyes. It was like no one else existed in that moment—just the two of you, with a delicate thread of tension starting to form between your worlds.

But Tsunade had to ruin it, a playful disgust bubbling up inside her at all the sweetness.

“Well, my time here is up. Good luck with your teaching, Hokage.”

She tossed Kakashi a mocking look, while Kurenai and Asuma followed her out—sensing ttoo, that it was probably time to leave.

And in that moment, Kakashi felt just a little helpless, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly before turning to you again.

“Ahm… okay. Let’s find a more comfortable place before I introduce you to Konoha’s world. Come with me.”

You didn’t understand half of what he said—but the tone in his voice was enough for your feet to follow him without question.

༄

Kakashi couldn’t think of anywhere safer to take you than his office. Even though it feels a bit too intimate for him to share his personal space this much, he figures it’s necessary—if he really wants to help you.

“Ahm, tea?” he glances over his shoulder as he pours himself a cup of green tea, gesturing toward the teapot so you understand what he means. You nod in agreement, a small smile playing on your lips as you curiously echo,

“Tea?”

He quickly turns to pour you a cup too, a little flustered by how cute you are in your cluelessness.

He hands it to you while maintaining eye contact. You accept it with a smile. His lips press into a thin line as he awkwardly moves to sit in his chair, shrugging off his Hokage cloak—which he finds a little stupid sometimes wearing it.

He doesn’t realize you’ve had red ears since the moment you walked into the room.

He glances at you again, unsure where to begin. But your curious gaze manages to snap him out of the hypnosis your eyes creates..

“Right, so… we should start with language first.” He looks at you for a second before translating it into your language and writing it on a piece of paper with his pen. You can’t really see from where you’re sitting, and he notices.

“C-come closer.”

He gestures for you to sit next to him, but ends up standing and dragging your chair over himself.

Damn.

He realizes—too late—that this was a mistake. His suspicion is confirmed the second he catches a hint of your scent. Or maybe it’s just your natural smell. It makes him a little dizzy, but he composes his voice quickly.

“Here and here—” he says, circling the words he just translated on the page.

You respond with a short but genuine, “Okay.”

After a few hours, Kakashi managed to pretend your presence doesn’t affect him. His usual seriousness returned. You’ve made it past basic expressions and greetings, which is good. He noticed you have a strong memory—though he’d love to know what your real personality is like.

Though his stoicism came back and he’s no longer delusional about what he feels around you, something unusual for him, but, on your end—you’ve grown more observant.

Since meeting him, you’ve started unconsciously seeking him out with your eyes whenever he’s around, and his voice sticks in your mind more than anyone else’s. Of course, you never want to disrespect the Hokage, but still—it’s hard not to wonder what he looks like without the mask. Or even deeper: who he is beneath the mask and title. How the scar under his eye only intensifies his gaze, pulling you out of the present moment sometimes. Your thoughts always arrive at the same quiet, unwavering conclusion. “Beautiful.”

Which is why, by the end of the session, you’re a little distracted. You’re listening—but not really. You nod, but don’t fully comprehend.

Kakashi has started to pick up on your little reactions and expressions. His experience reading people—especially what they don’t say—helps too.

So when you go quiet, his brows furrow slightly. He flips through the dictionary, then starts speaking slowly but clearly:

“That’s enough for today. You look tired.”

Blink. Another blink.

Now you’re no longer spacing out—your cheeks flush, and Kakashi can’t tell if it’s because of how close you are to his face or because he caught you not paying attention, even though your eyes had been tracing every curve of his face.

“Sorry, I—I—”

You quickly get up, prompting him to stand too. You subtly wipe your sweaty palms on the tight, uncomfortable pants you’re still wearing from your intense training with Tsunade.

Impressive woman, you think.

Kakashi watches as you move to the other side of the desk, bowing slightly, and say,

“Thank you!”

What surprises you is that you think you heard something like a chuckle from him. Oh, he should laugh more.

Kakashi speaks just as you’re about to leave:

“No worries. See you tomorrow.”

You at least understood the first part before stepping out of the room, not forgetting to give him a grateful smile.

After the door clicks shut and your footsteps fade, Kakashi lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing as he stands in the middle of the office, still facing the door you left through.

But somehow, now, it’s different—because he smirked. As he sets his ridiculously big hat down on his desk, his hair tousled in all directions, a thought settles in.

So I’m not the only one affected by your presence

༄

Today, Kakashi decided to show you the most sacred places in Konoha. First, he waited for you after your training with Tsunade, leaning against a tree with his arms lazily crossed.

It’s his day off, so his clothes are finally normal now.

Though “that black t-shirt without sleeves” distracted you instantly when you saw him from the training field. Your eyes avoiding him a little more, just to make sure it’s not obvious that his prominent muscles, painted by that red tattoo that makes him even more attractive, are affecting your brain chemistry. You don’t want to give the impression of unseriousness or, even worse, to behave inappropriately towards him.

It’s not easy for Kakashi either — he got to see a bit of your abilities. And seeing how your chakra-enhanced strength was acting was a true sight to witness. His eyes widened especially when your small fist landed a brutal hit into the ground — taijutsu really suits you. Still, he couldn’t stop his gaze when you bent down slightly to stretch your back after that hit.

Tsunade let out a theatrical sigh after how much work you did — meaning just giving you commands and pushing you to the limit — but she always loves to dramatize a little.

Her steady gaze, which defines her confidence in herself, settled on Kakashi as you both approached him.

“Day off, huh?” Looking him up and down before teasing him like she always does.

“Poor Kakashi, so little time for your disgusting books. What a shame you’ll miss out on Konoha’s streets.”

Kakashi let out just an annoyed huff — their sibling-like relationship sometimes gets the best of him.

“Wow, your observation skills are truly groundbreaking.” A pause. “Or not.”

Tsunade rolled her eyes at that, before he added:

“In fact, I don’t mind.”

Finally, looking at you and giving you a small smile before greeting you.

“Hello. Good to see you.”

It’s hard for him to choose the appropriate greeting expression in order not to overstep. So the words left his lips almost forced.

“Hey, Hokage-sama!”

You bow politely, while Kakashi slightly widens his eyes and waves his hands in disapproval, a bit embarrassed.

“Hah, no need for—”

Tsunade lets out a snort at that, tossing her ponytails over her shoulder with her usual assertiveness.

She didn’t bother to announce her leaving after seeing how you both act like teenagers — even if it’s quite a show — the slow build between you that she anticipated from the first time the lone wolf Kakashi laid eyes on you.

You’re not different either — women can tell pretty quickly when another woman has a thing for a man, you don’t even have to speak the same language.

༄

While you were both immersed in each other’s presence, your eyes sometimes slipped down to his body, which drew too much attention. You’re almost ashamed to admit you don’t want anyone else to see him right now or admire him. Not that he noticed anything, especially now, focused only on taking you to as many places as possible and explaining things.

“So … it’s … a …”

Your words start forming much better than before — he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of you.

“That’s …? Konoha Toshodokoro?

“Yes, indeed.”

Even though he talks more than you sometimes, somehow it helps you understand better. Hard to believe, but you actually managed to laugh together when he tried to show you how … it works, his hands miming clumsily — it was too funny how awkward he was, and for a moment you felt even closer to him.

Your laughter grew louder after he scolded you playfully:

“That’s mean, don’t laugh. I’m trying to help.”

But his smile (too big, though — he’s lucky it’s hidden) said something else.

Meanwhile, Genma and Kotetsu were leaning against a post from a common gathering spot in Konoha.

Genma sends a side-glance to his friend, then returns with a sly smirk at how you two look together, laughing and walking on the streets like you’ve known each other for years.

“Well, well, well. Such a sight to behold.”

Kotesu accompanies him:

“A short trip sometimes needs a break. Right, Kakashi-san?”

Kakashi felt a bit annoyed when he got pulled out of the bubble he was in with you. Even though you didn’t mind, the smile was still intact on your face.

His usual demeanor brought back his rigidity.

“Hello, Genma and Kotetsu-san.”

After considering their suggestion to grab a drink before heading off — seeing how Genma nods toward the place — Kakashi speaks again:

“Maybe next time. Still, thank you for your offer.”

༄

A year and a half after the war, things in Konoha were slowly starting to return to normal.

Missions weren’t as frequent anymore, reports from other villages and management issues no longer gave Kakashi constant dark circles, and people seemed happier.

Or maybe it was just the two of you who felt that way more than others.

The truth is, for more than half a year since you arrived here, you managed to learn the language pretty well. Slowly, Kakashi realized that you’re a person impossible to avoid. You even managed to make contact with your family, but you firmly told them to come here after you.

He still doesn’t understand your reason for that, because you haven’t told him. He can only be glad that you’re staying here, but why?

Kakashi is a selfless man, not by choice. Life taught him to fight and help every time he could, but in the process, he sabotaged himself and never let anyone help him too much. Not that he necessarily thinks he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s no longer an optimistic person — not since he was very young — and he doesn’t expect miracles.

And this is where he’s wrong. But “luck” is on his side, because you’ve liked him since you arrived here. You can’t say it was just his appearance, you couldn’t even fully see him, since he was hidden — just like his soul.

It was because his energy warms yours, his kindness, his awareness of his surroundings, his choice of words, and the chemistry between you? It hasn’t gone unnoticed by others.

You’re not someone who hides behind things, your boldness starting to strike when Kakashi least expected.

If before you were afraid of being inappropriate, that concept doesn’t exist anymore. Especially once you realized it wasn’t just in your head.

While you were packing your gear into your training backpack, sitting on a tree stump, a few strands that slipped from your hair — though it was braided into two — clung to your face and made it hard to see.

Tsunade was just waiting for you to finish, her gaze had already drifted to the usual spot where Kakashi waited for you, immersed in his book, which he had kind of been ignoring these past few months.

“How long is this little theatre you two are putting on going to last?”

You looked at her, squinting from the sunlight behind her, not understanding the expression.

“Theatre?”

“The play you’re putting on, with Hokage – student.”

You dodge the question, as expected.

“I think we are even friends now.”

Tsunade called your name and as you stood up, you maintained eye contact while she spoke.

“You know Kakashi likes you, right? You are a smart woman.” Sensing your dismissive retort coming, she didn’t let you speak. “Kakashi is different. He faced some terrible things and will never say it out loud or directly in order to not burden another person.”

You blinked at her, your soul starting to throb violently as she confirmed what your perceptions of him already were.

As a final note, she added, “Do what you want with this, it’s completely your choice. As a suggestion, what we all see here is that you two are alike and have a connection rare to find.”

You gulped, glancing distantly at Kakashi while he had already stopped reading, trying to figure out what’s taking so long.

Tsunade’s seriousness surprised you at the time. But it didn’t last long. When you admitted you liked him, she teased you almost every time.

Sometimes you think she created a monster. You. Because now, you act directly around Kakashi.

For example, you linger too much in his presence, you ask too many shady questions just to get to ask his opinion, you fix his hair if a leaf has landed on him. You insist on helping him with Hokage tasks even though he almost always refuses.

Which slowly kills Kakashi.

What shocked him the most was when you made him vulnerable in front of everyone during a meeting, exposing his sacrifice behavior and… his care.

While Kakashi was presenting the risky mission he said he had to personally undertake — even though arms supply management wasn’t his responsibility, even though many suspicions confirmed that intruders started stealing them and it led to distrust between villages.

Kakashi started speaking in that firm tone no one wanted to challenge — except, of course, Tsunade. But now, you too.

“I will go to assure the safety of the shinobi in that area. We need to find the persons responsible for this.”

And you didn’t think twice before daring to speak.

“As I read about Hokage responsibilities in the rules of council’s book (your pronunciation isn’t the best yet), this doesn’t seem like one.”

Kakashi’s attention shifted from Guy Sensei, who was definitely offering to come with him, to being fixed on you, slightly surprised.

“Not everything is written down. As a Hokage, you need to show people you care about their safety — and not from behind a desk.”

“Is it? Or is this your personal desire to carry everything on your own shoulders, like you’re used to?”

Everyone went quiet for a second. Until Tsunade, mockingly, gestured with her hand and said:

“A mission like this is insignificant compared to what Kakashi has been through.”

So you added, firmly, “If it’s so insignificant, I don’t think Hokage-sama himself would have a problem if I accompanied him. For his safety, of course, which is the priority.”

Asuma made a “tsk” sound with his toothpick in his mouth. As if to say indirectly, “She got you there, mate.”

Kakashi still kept his gaze on you — your angry expression interested him so much he dismissed the others in order to speak with you.

You sat back down, still a little upset.

Kakashi took off his Hokage robes, remaining in your favorite black clothes of his, putting his hands in his pockets and starting by saying your name to get your attention.

“Dare to say what happened?”

Your tone was slightly ironic, but there was more to it.

“Was I wrong?”

A pause.

“No.”

“So you don’t disagree with me coming as a guardian? Since my safety as a villager is more important than the Hokage himself?”

Kakashi was a bit surprised, though oddly, it seemed that when you’re angry, you speak better.

“You think I’m irresponsible.”

“No. I think your life is just as important as ours, not just because you’re Hokage. You’re important. And to me, as well.”

Kakashi felt like there was no air in his lungs when he tried to breathe again.

So you added, while walking out the door with determination:

“So from now on, you’re not doing things alone anymore, Kakashi. Not when I’m here. Unless you want to exile me from the village.”

You slammed the door a little, and that day and night, Kakashi spent hours processing the care behind your words. As if a small door in his well-protected soul had opened, and you’d stepped right through it.

For the first time since he was born, his instinct was to make a “selfish” decision and accept you in his life. But he still doesn’t know how.

༄

Since then, you made Kakashi realize he wasn’t alone anymore. Not just the kind of alone where you’re not surrounded by people—but the kind that settles deep in your soul.

You’d started spending time together outside of training, outside of missions. You carved yourself a quiet little space in his office. Rumors, of course, began to spread about how much time you two spent together, but everyone could see it—this was the best thing that could’ve happened to Kakashi.

Now, the two of you were buried in your books. You were still reading historical texts about Konoha—its language, its traditions—while Kakashi sighed behind his desk, flipping through today’s mission reports.

You peeked up from your book with a small smile.

“Need help?”

But Kakashi waved a dismissive hand without even looking up, too stressed to bother responding. You walked closer, placing your hand on his desk and leaning in.

You tilted your head slightly, watching the tension in his furrowed brows. Kakashi paused just long enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye before going back to his work, clearly trying not to focus on how close you were.

“You can’t help, don’t worry. Just some mundane, meticulous Hokage stuff,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I don’t know how Tsunade ever dealt with all of this.”

You chuckled quietly and replied with a grin, “I’m pretty sure Shizune was the one forced to do most of it.”

He huffed. “Most likely.”

Kakashi looked at you again, and his eyes betrayed him for just a moment—scanning you, lingering just a second too long.

You felt your cheeks flush, subtly tucking some hair behind your ear as you shifted and hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him.

Kakashi leaned back slightly in his chair and gave you a teasing look.

“Highly inappropriate for a shinobi, dear.”

You smirked. “Lucky for you, I’m basically your qualified assistant at this point, considering how much time I spend in here.”

Even if you let the bold words slip out, your hands were a little sweaty as you nervously fiddled with the edge of your short skirt, which barely covered the tight training shorts beneath.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“As your qualified assistant, is your job to motivate the Hokage… or distract him?”

You leaned in just a little closer, smile widening as you feigned innocence.

“Oh, I assure you, my intentions are entirely pure. I’m only here to encourage the village leader. Don’t tell me I’m distracting you?”

Kakashi shook his head, half in disbelief, half amused. He cleared his throat before replying.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes locked with his, full of unspoken meaning. Something deeper passed between you—something warm, quiet, and magnetic.

༄

The next week bring more promises ahead.

It was a normal spring day, the kind where everything felt a little more hopeful when you looked around and saw cherry blossoms swirling over Konoha. You’d all decided to go out for drinks and catch up.

You sat between Tsunade and Shizune. Asuma and Kushina were chatting nearby, not separated from the group but in their own little corner. Guy-sensei—whom you adored for how much he inspired you to work harder—was arguing with Kakashi over something ridiculous, as usual, while Iruka laughed along. Kotetsu, Genma, and Anko were too busy racing to see who could down a shot the fastest.

“Kakashi, my man, why can’t you accept defeat for once?” Guy’s eyes were red from laughing, his wide grin only making Kakashi roll his eyes as Guy shook him by the shoulders.

“Guy, please. For the millionth time—you were the one who lost—”

You cut in, feigning a shocked gasp. “That’s a lie! I saw Guy-sensei land the final strike!”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow at your blatant betrayal, while Tsunade tossed back another shot with a smirk and Shizune giggled sweetly.

Guy’s eyes sparkled dramatically.

“See, Kakashi?! She recognizes true effort and extraordinary talent!”

Kakashi shot you a teasing look before turning back to Guy, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Okay, okay. You win. My ego is so crushed—I think I need to step outside and recover.”

He got up with exaggerated exasperation, shooting you a short, private glance over his shoulder before heading out.

You couldn’t help but grin wider as Tsunade nudged you lightly, pretending to cough.

“Right… W-Well… Excuse me for a second, I need to use the bathroom.”

Guy gave you a thumbs-up, totally buying your excuse. The others were too distracted to notice—except the girls. Even though Kushina was clinging to Asuma, she didn’t miss it. She exchanged a knowing glance with Tsunade and Shizune.

You didn’t bother taking the long way to make your lie believable. You walked straight outside and found Kakashi leaning against the bar wall, clearly waiting.

You brushed off a speck of nonexistent dust from your dress. The colors you wore mirrored the season—a pale pink and white kimono tied lazily with a floral sash that framed your figure and bared the skin above your chest, where the curve of your breasts pressed against the short, fitted dress beneath. The gold chain around your neck held a sun-shaped pendant—the one they gave you on your one-year anniversary as a shinobi of the village.

You’d never forget Kakashi’s gentle hands pushing your hair aside to clasp it for you. It might’ve looked like a casual moment to anyone watching, but both of you had felt your hearts about to burst out of your chests.

You stepped beside him, leaning against the wall with your shoulder.

“Sobering up a little?” you asked with a soft smile.

“Not much of a drinker,” Kakashi replied. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His eyes drifted across your face… and then, slowly, down your body. He didn’t bother hiding it. Maybe the alcohol had lowered his guard a little.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

You bit your lip, shy, glancing down before lifting your gaze with an honest smile.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He shook his head and looked forward again. “You always dodge compliments.”

You chuckled. “And you always deflect them.”

“Guess we’re a match.”

He meant it teasingly at first—but both of you froze for half a second, eyes widening at the implication.

A pause.

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Right. We should go back in. The wind’s getting rougher and you could catch a cold—”

“No.”

He turned to you quickly, swallowing hard, searching your face for an answer.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He looked confused. “Wait for what? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as your heart pounded against your ribs. You exhaled shakily, trying to steady yourself.

“No, it’s just—Kakashi.”

You looked at him—really looked. He froze.

“Kakashi, I like you. I’ve liked you since I met you.”

Did you really just say that? Or did he imagine it? That couldn’t have—

But when he saw your face again—your flushed cheeks, your shaky breathing—he felt his heart almost stop.

“Are you sure you know what that means—?”

You cut him off. “Kakashi. Yes, I’m sure.” Your voice was firmer now, tinged with frustration. “I thought I wasn’t the only one feeling this. But maybe I read it wrong. If I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

You started to turn away—but he caught your arm. In one swift motion, his other hand slipped behind your back, and before you could blink, he’d pulled his mask down and kissed you.

Your eyes widened for a moment before closing, melting into how soft his lips felt against yours.

Kakashi kissed you slowly at first, savoring every second, until your fingers tangled in his hair and you tugged gently. His mouth parted—and at the same time, you both deepened the kiss.

His tongue met yours, the taste of you overwhelming in the best way. All the tension, all the feelings he’d buried—it poured out in that kiss. Especially when you let out a soft gasp between kisses, making him lose control for just a second.

He didn’t want to rush. He didn’t want the moment to be tainted by tipsy bravado, so when he finally pulled away, he kept one hand on your cheek and rested his forehead gently against yours.

You were both breathless, staring into each other. Vulnerability shimmered in your eyes. There was so much there—too much to name. Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred from unshed tears.

“Kakashi…”

“Yes,” he replied with the same intensity, his thumb softly brushing your cheek. “I—I feel the same. In case I haven’t made that clear enough.”

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “You made it very clear.”

He nodded, finally stepping back, placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the door.

“Let’s go back in. I can’t use the wind as an excuse anymore.”

You laughed quietly as you let him guide you, eyes still glowing with love—and you never once looked away from him.

༄

There hadn’t been any more hesitations since then. Even though Kakashi had always been careful to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

He avoids openly affectionate gestures in public, but he stands just a little closer to you—his presence a quiet shield.

Kakashi as Hokage makes quiet mornings more peaceful. He hands you a perfectly brewed cup of tea without a word, grounding you with his presence alone.

He insists on walking you almost everywhere, especially after work, brushing it off with a simple, “It’s on my way,” even though it's clearly not.

He notices your favorite flowers and sometimes surprises you with one, leaving it where he knows you'll find it.

He sits with you under the stars after a long day, offering advice only if you need it—just that silent comfort that he’s here, and he always will be.

But something is missing. With not much experience, you struggle to find what exactly it is...

You both walk through the village together, the lantern lights casting a soft orange zigzag glow over the street and the breeze pleasant against the heat of an overly hot summer day.

You’d bought yourself a fan from a stall in the village center, waving it dramatically while already crying a couple of times—but Kakashi was only amused by your frustration. Your pouty expression was too cute to him.

He couldn’t help but glance occasionally at the slight curve of your cleavage, brought out by the heat, a bead of sweat slipping between them.

But you? You’d started feeling insecure, not aware of his thoughts—not that you had any experience. You didn’t know if Kakashi respected you too much, or maybe… maybe you just weren’t compatible?

Was your lack of experience that obvious? Did it not excite him? You didn’t know what to think… especially today, when your thoughts were more tangled than usual. Not that you were trying to get his attention—but you'd woken up earlier just to pick your favorite dress. The first one he ever saw you in, a year ago. Your hair was softly wavy from the braids you did the night before, and a subtle line of soft blue eyeliner hugged your eyelids. And yet, you felt like you’d just finished three hours of intense training with Tsunade, in yesterday’s clothes. Because Kakashi didn’t seem to react at all. But he noticed. Like he always do.

As you stared blankly ahead, slightly tilted down, he gently nudged your shoulder.

“Hello? Is somebody here?”

You looked up suddenly, as if snapped out of your thoughts, then smiled—though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“A-ah! Haha, She's away for a minute. Lemme check in the back for you.”

Kakashi smiled back, but it's not like you could fool him, the one of the best lie detectors alive. Still, he didn’t push. Not until you reached your favorite spot—by the little fountain, where you sometimes picked wild yellow flowers while he likes to enjoyed the sun barefoot. Little moments when he actually relax. But is besides you.

But when you sat on top of a small mound of stones—placed by Kakashi during your last visits so you’d be more comfortable—he didn’t hesitate to break your usual routine. A strand of hair was gently tucked behind your ear by his fingers as you squinted at him, eyes narrowed from the sun, until he moved to block it with his body.

“Tell me. What’s weighing on your heart, darling?”

You let out a breath, half a scoff, half a laugh—because he always knows. Always, even when you don’t have the words.

“Fear.”

“Of what?” His reply was immediate, his gaze unwavering.

It took a moment to find the right word or the courage to say it.

“That we’re not right for each other.”

Kakashi furrowed his brows slightly, trying to ignore the pang that hit his chest.

“Why would you say that?”

You looked at him for a second before turning your gaze away again.

“I don’t think you feel the same way I feel about you.”

Kakashi blinked a few times. That didn’t make any sense. Did I miss something?

“What do you feel for me that I don’t?”

“Desire.”

You answered quickly—because if you didn’t say it now, the tension in your heart might crush you.

Kakashi didn’t move for a few seconds.

He bent one knee, just to see your face better, which you were trying to hide.

“You’re trying to tell me I’m not attracted to you?”

Your lips pressed together, nervous, and Kakashi didn’t look away this time.

“It feels that way.”

And that’s when he realized. He’d made a mistake. He’d always feared he’d be seen as some frustrated, sex-obsessed jerk. Less of a man if he ever let himself show what he truly wanted.

He lowered his head to breathe, voice muffled slightly by his posture.

“Wrong.”

You didn’t understand, but didn’t have time to be confused.

“What did—”

Kakashi swept you off your feet then, making you laugh from sheer surprise, your hair falling halfway over your face. “Kakashi, what are you doing?” Your arms wrapped around his neck as he took two steps before taking off into the air.

You felt your heart pounding louder than your thoughts, pressing harder into his chest as you flew. To his place? Yours? You didn’t care. Not really. You just anticipated the moment, even if you didn’t understand—Why only now?

Kakashi had one goal now: to calm down, and unravel slowly if possible the desire he’d held in since the first day he saw you. A smirk formed under his mask at the thought that you were finally about to find out what kind of man he really is.

When you arrived at your place, he didn’t even let you down to open the door—he’d already memorized your entrance seal.

Only once inside did he let you down gently, but the distance between you didn’t grow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as your eyes met his—just for a second, before they fluttered shut when you felt his lips on your neck. Between the burning kisses, his voice grew slower. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way.” His hands ran slowly down your back, tracing the seam of your dress before sliding down to your leg and lifting it, drawing you in closer. “But that’s nothing more than a wrong impression.” His last word landed right as his lips met yours.

Your mouth opened immediately to welcome him in, a low hum of pleasure escaping him that made you burn—especially somewhere unfamiliar.

His hand gripped the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, and the sound you let out was so sweet it made him squeeze your thighs even harder.

When he pulled away just to let you breathe, you admitted shyly,

“I’ve never…”

“I know,” Kakashi reassured you softly, and that was part of why he’d avoided getting close like this—he didn’t want to scare you. His breath ghosted along your spine as he leaned to whisper in your ear, “We’ll only do this if you want to.”

If you weren’t sure before, his low, rough voice was enough to make your legs tremble. You could only nod and Kakashi could already feel the effect he had on you.

Fuck.

He looked into your eyes for a second too long—maybe just to calm himself—before moving behind you to undress you gently.

His fingers traced slowly over your hot skin, and goosebumps bloomed in their wake, down to the zipper that he lowered slowly, the dress slipping off your hips.

He returned to face you, kneeling until he was level with your stomach, slipping the dress from your body. You were left only in your underwear, but Kakashi never looked away from your face, making sure you were still with him.

“Can I?”

Your voice came out raspier than expected.

“Y-yes.”

He nodded, his gaze finally settling on the part of you he’d shamefully dreamed of more nights than he could admit.

They say fantasies are better than reality. That’s a lie. He doesn’t think he’s ever been luckier than in this moment.

His hand slid between your legs, gently parting them. His lips kissed everywhere, starting inside and outside your legs. And when he felt how soaked your panties already were from just his touch—your legs nearly gave out at his lips touching the fabric over your pussy.

He rose, trailing kisses all over your body, one hand unclasping your bra. Your hair covered your nipples, barely.

His breath grew heavy as he looked at you, his hand cupping your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” He lifted your face and kissed you again.

As you feel too shy to be standing fully naked in the middle of the room, you urge him with a whisper.

“You too need-,” Your hands removed his mask completly, then his black shirt, your fingers trailing down his toned muscles before reaching his pants. Kakashi decided that was enough—he took your hands and gently pushed you onto the bed’s edge, kneeling between your legs again.

You led him in. At this point, you didn’t even have coherent thoughts left. He was a sight to behold. So beautiful.

Your trembling legs made Kakashi smirk wider as he pulled your panties down slowly. But you couldn’t look away. And neither could he. He let out a soft gasp when one finger parted your glistening folds and circled your clit slowly.

You moaned with flushed cheeks—and just as your legs started to close, he pinned them down.

“Mhm.” His teasing voice quickened your breath. But once his mouth found your pussy, your head dropped hard onto the bed.

You couldn’t believe you’d missed out on this until now.

For Kakashi, your taste was all he could focus on. He licked and kissed you with such hunger he almost didn’t notice how hard you were trembling—until your louder moans pulled him back. Your eyes met his, and that alone made you come, your first time, on his tongue.

He hadn’t expected it to be so fast. Neither had you. The pleasure overwhelmed you, and Kakashi let you squeeze his face between your thighs as his tongue gently cleaned you off.

He rose over you slowly. Your dazed, fucked-out expression was mesmerizing. You both laughed softly.

“We’re not done, sweetheart.”

You swallowed just before he kissed you again, and the new taste on your tongue made your cheeks burn again—realizing it was yours.

“K-Kakashi.”

His cock twitched at your needy stutter.

“Yes?”

“Can y-you—”

Your hand moved over his cock through his pants. It didn’t feel small. At all. You were a little scared—it felt big.

“Of course.” He took off his pants—but it still wasn’t enough. But Kakashi didn’t want to rush. He had to prepare you. “Shh, let me.” Hearing you whine in his neck, he sped up just a bit, slipping one finger in gently. “Tell me if it’s okay, okay?”

You only nodded, keeping eye contact, mind focused on the foreign sensation as his finger pushed in. It wasn’t as painful as you thought. You gasped at the slight pain, but that was it. The feeling eased and Kakashi was watching you closely as your breathing quickened and your hips started to move.

“Oh my—”

He silenced you with a kiss, swallowing your moans as a second finger entered you. Pushing harder, your thoughts blurred, reduced to pleas.

“P-please, please, please—”

“You’re gonna come again for me? Yes, sweetheart?” Kakashi groaned as your tears stung your cheeks, your nods frantic.

Your body convulsed on the mattress, mouth opening to release a long cry.

Kakashi left kisses all over your face and neck, drawing out your orgasm until his fingers left you.

As you caught your breath, you watched him take off the last of his clothes. Your eyes widened, but Kakashi reassured you before positioning himself.

“I’ll go as slow as you want.”

And he kept his word. You bit your lips so hard they nearly bled as he pushed into you. You felt so full—and he wasn’t even halfway in.

“Sweetheart?”

He looked a little worried at your expression, until you encouraged him.

“Keep going, Kakashi. Please.”

The rumors were true. It hurt. Like hell. But after? No one warned you how it would feel after. Or maybe it only felt this way with him.

Once his movements found a rhythm, hitting that one spot that left you breathless, especially when Kakashi noticed and didn’t stop—

“Kakashi, it feels so good, so good—”

Kakashi agreed. He tried to focus on anything else—your pleasure, your face, the wall behind you—just to keep from coming the second he entered you. He’d never felt anything like this.

“Yes?”

“Y-yes yes!! Please, please kiss me—”

He kissed you immediately, the kiss messy from how he hit inside you, your tongues battling, desperate to consume the other.

That same sensation built again, especially when Kakashi lifted your leg to go deeper. Your moans turned to cries.

And when you came again, so hard, it took everything in him not to pull out. You clenched so tightly, Kakashi didn’t last much longer. But before he could pull out—

“N-no, no! Please—in me, Kakashi!”

And how could he say no to that?

A deep groan escaped him as he filled you completely, so much it spilled down your thighs.

Not that you noticed. You both had only looked at each other the whole time.

He stayed over you for a while, catching his breath and your hand instinctively running through his hair.

Then he cleaned you off gently, moving you onto his chest. His fingers ran through your hair, caressed your cheeks as you smiled nonstop.

“So I was wrong,” you murmured.

He chuckled.

“Definitely.”

Your smile stayed, then your expression grew serious. He tilted his head slightly, waiting.

“I love you, Kakashi. A lot.”

His heart beat harder. He knew. Or hoped. But it had always been hard to accept someone loving him. And just as hard, saying it back. But now, it came naturally.

“I love you too, as much.”

Your insides tingled, hugging him tightly.

And Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever slept better than he did that night—something he’d only admit to you long after. About half a year later, by the time he was already planning to propose. He didn’t want to waste another second, knowing that kind of luck would never come twice in his life.

#kakashi hatake #kakashi sensei #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #hatake kakashi #kakashi fluff #naruto fanfiction #naruto smut #naruto fluff #naruto shippuden #naruto x you #naruto x reader

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maladaptiveobsession · 6 months ago

Note

*pokes* oh my god! i really love all of your dol headcanons, the suicidal one admitedly made me cry, it's just that good! :'D not sure if you take request or not, you can ignore this if you aren't, but i'd absolutely would love something related to bailey taking reader's virginity...? his dialogue in canon (before it was removed rip) when he took pc's virginity drive me fucking crazy :)

“Your body was always mine.”

Synopsis: You owe Bailey, but are short on cash. He takes your virginity as payment.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, anal mention, biting, cervix kiss, deflowering, fingering, masturbation, noncon, oral mention, overstimulation, scratching, purity/virginity kink

Words: 2,159

A/N: Sorry this took so long. It’s been a rough month or so. I wish they would have left us the ability to fuck Bailey at least until they had more lewd content to replace it with. I refuse to acknowledge his canon disinterest in the player.

In a town such as this, where temptations festered in the shadow, it was a miracle you’d preserved your purity for as long as you had. He can’t imagine how you managed, though he supposes your affiliation with the church must have contributed. Fat load of good that did against him, though, didn’t it? It hadn’t been intentional, but he’d gradually accrued your virginities, unraveling your innocence thread by thread.

Once in a moment of weakness, driven by frustration. You’d pestered him all that morning with dumb shit, and in a haze of anger and desire, he overwhelmed you, his hands gripping your body as he bent you over his desk and roughly violated your ass. You fought valiantly, but you were just no match.

"You should be putting out more if you're this tight. What do you think you're good for?"

Once with the intentions to torment that insufferable prick, Avery. You may have been that bastard’s date for the evening, but he was your guardian, and it was about damn time he reminded you both who actually owned you. With the right encouragement—threats against that other brat, Robin—he hadn’t needed to lift a finger for your mouth to get to work. The look on that man’s face as you choked on him was the highlight of his evening, though your inexperienced tongue running alongside his shaft was a contender to be sure.

"Don't get any funny ideas. Just take it."

Once more that same evening without thinking. With all the adrenaline coursing through his body, he hadn’t considered the significance before grabbing your hand and thoughtlessly dragging you off to his car. He hadn’t registered the way your hand tensed against his own until long after he’d dumped you off at the orphanage.

Lastly, by your discretion, too drunk for you to realize the “handsome stranger with kissable lips” was in fact your caretaker coming to collect your dumbass after you’d gone and got yourself roofied. You were lucky it was the day before collection; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. For reasons unknown to even himself, his resolve to remain indifferent crumbled under your clumsy lips, pulling you close to dress your lips with his and turning that chaste brush of lips into a ferocious battle with his tongue. You probably still think it was that haunting freak you barely tolerate who took your first kiss, but he hasn’t forgotten.

"Surprised are you? You'll learn to kiss better soon."

Now, behind the locked door of his office, he finds himself clawing at the remnants of his self-control, trying desperately to ignore the desire that began to bloom since he first pinned you against his desk. He palms at the ache pressing against his trousers, shame creeping along his spine. He should never have let things get as far as they did. There were lines he had resolved not to cross, and yet here he was, hips jerking to the thought of your warm tongue, soft lips, and tight ass.

The thought that you’ve been sauntering around town with that virgin cunt of yours unprotected, purity vulnerable to any prowling perverts, evokes a possessive rage that has no place invading his thoughts.

He sure as fuck shouldn’t be entertaining the thought that you’re only some doors down, just out of reach. The desire to own you in full has him in a chokehold. Growling, he reclines deeper into his swivel chair, impatiently fishing his cock out from his trousers, leaking pre-cum down over angry veins.

Fuck it, just this once.

With a sense of urgency, he gathers himself in his hand, tightening his hold damn near enough to strangle, and begins furiously pumping his hand. It doesn't take too long before he reaches that precipice, jaw and core tightening as he inhales sharply. Warmth spreads over his hand, pace and grip relaxing as he eases himself down from his high.

Releasing a sigh, he reaches across his desk for a tissue. After cleaning himself off and resituating himself into his pants, he glances down at his wristwatch.

12:30 AM

Right, there was still the matter of your debt. Before he could erase you from his thoughts, he had to collect your payment for this week. It was admittedly early, but the day of collection nonetheless, and he could swing by damn well any time he pleased. He steels himself before pushing the door open and striding up the stairs towards your room. The sound of your laughter mingling with that of another orphan—Robin, his mind supplies to his distaste—pulls at his insides like a vice.

The door swings open violently, the force startling the both of you into silence. The sight before him reignits that possessive rage; your hips straddling his with only a pair of panties protecting you from his exposed length. Underneath you, the boy cringes as Bailey's attention rests on him, eyes widening in bewilderment and terror. The air was thick with tension.

“Get out.” He bites out as calmly as he could manage, nails digging into his palms.

Robin casts a rueful glance between the both of you, torn between the desire to shield you and fear. You assure him that you’ll be fine, gesturing towards the door with your chin.

“But—” Robin begins, but is interrupted by Bailey.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he snarls, the animosity seemingly making the air colder and heavier. Quickly worming back into his night shorts, Robin slinks by Bailey while sending one last remorseful glance your way before vanishing down the corridor.

Silence punctuates his departure. Rage simmers below the surface of his skin, threatening to burn him. The sound of shuffling sheets punctures the quiet, instinctually causing him to look your way. Breath catches in his throat, soaking in the sight of your exposed thighs. As you reach for your bottoms, awkwardly twisting your body, he sees what he believes must be that brat's fluids discoloring your underwear. Lips twitching, he’s overcome with the desire to tear it from your body and have it burned.

Had he arrived even an hour later, you’d have surrendered your virginity to that urchin. Struck with violent impulse, he feels the final strand of resolve disintegrate. He stalks forward, his presence overwhelming as he closes the distance between you.

Scrambling back until your back is pressed against the headboard, you glare daggers, demanding to know why he’s here. The slight tremble of your voice reveals the fear underlining that false bravado you’ve taken to wearing. He makes note of your shifting eyes, frantically searching for an escape, and snorts in amusement. There would be no trouble subduing you, especially at this distance. Perhaps you came to this realization yourself, your eyes snapping back to him with a trace of defeat settling onto your features.

“You owe me.” A grimace overtakes your expression. Ah, now this was a first. Of all his orphans, you were one of the few that were consistently prompt with their payments. No wonder you were offering yourself to that brat. Now, no guilt would weigh on his conscience; you owed him and he intended to collect. You had only yourself to blame for whatever happened next.

Gathering your voice, you stamper out a retort, voice raising as you speak. “I-I’m a little short, but I ha-have enough to cover Robin! Do whatever to me; just leave him out of it!"

You nervously extend the bills out, and he snatches them, flicking through the stack to tally the sum. Satisfied with the amount, he stuffs the wad of cash into his pocket before glancing back up to you.

“I know just what to do with you. Don’t worry, I have no interest in that brat joining.” Closing the distance between you, he snatches your ankle and drags you towards him before you can resist.

You yelp as he pounces, quickly pinning your arms above your head and adjusting his grip so he can hold them down with just one hand. He doesn’t give you a moment to react before he snatches your lips with his own, silencing any potential objections. His tongue swipes across your lips, thrusting down your throat—domineering, rough, and speaking of suppressed desire. Pulling back, a string of saliva connects your lips.

“Wh-What was that about...?” You gasp out, greedily sucking in air, nearly suffocated by his intensity.

“You owe me.” He begins, hand drifting down to cup your sex. “And you have something I want.”

Tears gather at the revelation, struggling against his hold. “N-no way! Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”

Snatching your cheeks in his fingers, he clenches as a warning and sneers. “You fucking owe me, so unless you want me knocking on that brat’s door for payment, you’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you.”

You sniffle and sob, but otherwise settle down, realizing you have no other choice but to comply. Watching your eyes for any signs of rebellion, he feels assured you won’t try anything and releases your face and arms. You go limp, defeated. He hooks his finger in your panties, impatiently pulling them off your body before tossing them to the floor. He doesn’t bother to take off your shirt.

Though having seen you exposed before, he can’t help but stare in appreciation at your glistening lips. Swiping his middle and ring finger between your folds, he wastes no time before sinking knuckle deep, aided by your slick.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. That brat do this to you?” He begins pumping his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb, enjoying the crinkle of your nose and eyes as you try to maintain composure. “Or do you actually want this?”

You shake your head and try to say no, but your voice breaks into a whine as he curls his fingers against a sensitive spot. He takes the initiative to attack that spot, pressing a hand against your chest to hold you down when you begin to squirm.

"Just relax. I'll handle everything like always."

Feeling your chest rise faster and walls clenching tighter, he pulls away just as you’re about to reach your high. A whine leaves your throat against your will, feeling betrayed at the loss of his fingers. Without warning, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into him and replacing his fingers with something much thicker. The sudden intrusion steals your breath away and sends you over the edge, vaguely registering the pain through your climax. Perhaps he was just impatient, or maybe he cares some semblance to distract you from the pain of being split open by something so large. Either way, he gives you no time to adjust to his size, fingers digging into your skin and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

His eyes and lips pressed tight, overwhelmed by your tight heat. He’s plucked plenty of virgins, but none had brought him such intense pleasure. Melting into you, he sinks his face into your neck, tongue gliding across your skin and savoring your taste. You shiver as his lips trace your collarbone, the nipping of his teeth forcing sharp breaths from your throat.

It’s subtle, but you can hear his muted groans as his hips snap against yours, hungry and desperate. The sounds of wet, heated sex penetrate the thin walls of your room, sure to be heard by all. He can’t find it in him to care when all he can focus on is how sweetly you massage him, bringing him closer to the precipice of pleasure with each thrust. The crown of his cock kisses your cervix, your back arching from the sensation as your hands and legs wrap around him. Your nails dig into his back as that coil in your stomach tightens, leaving deep scratches in their path.

As you push against his thrusts, his hand slips between your bodies, teasing your clit with fervor. You feel yourself slip over that edge, head snapping back against the bed and calling out his name with eyes twisted shut. Feeling you tighten, he loses composure and begins frantically chasing that high for himself. Sensitive, you whine from overstimulation, softly calling out his name to catch his attention. The sound of your soft voice helplessly calling for him and only him lights his nerves and leaves him helplessly gripping the sheets. He bites down on your shoulder to stiffle a moan, spilling into you. His hips grind into yours as he winds down, hands tenderly gliding across your body.

As he pulls back, hot white pools onto the sheets below. He admires the mess he’s made: your bruised skin, neck raw and glistening, and lips parted as you try to gather your breath. His thumb ghosts over your lips, amused by the dumb look settled on your face. Satisfaction thrums through him, having claimed the last of your purity.

"Your body was always mine. Like your first time."

#dol #dol x reader #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity x reader #dol bailey #bailey the caretaker #bailey x reader #afab reader #gn reader #biting kink #virginity kink #tw noncon #tw overstimulation #tw purity kink #scratching kink #mdni #mal.mine

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sheepispink · 1 month ago

Note

Could you do the tf141 comforting or celebrating with the reader for living another day? I used to be suicidal so that's why I want a fic:)

a/n: i hope this is what you wanted! I tried as best as i can to make it as accurate as possible

thanks to @pythonmoth for the last scene w price! we always do the best brainstorming haha

Spring is just coming around, meaning it’s a little warmer on base and the breeze no longer bites your nose each time you go outside. The past few months have been ….rocky. Between struggling with your own issues and the taskforce finding out about everything, the wintery months have been long and dreadful. They’re not bad people; you’re not sure why you thought they may shame you for your thoughts, but still, the fear lingered in your mind.

You weren't in the room when Price shared the knowledge between them, so you didn't know just how silent they had all gone. The military was a roulette as it is, every mission always having the possibility of being your last. But to sit there and have to imagine you actually gone, stripped from their lives– it was something that scared them to death. It was so easy to get caught up in the intricacies of reports, the verge of civil wars and saving as many lives as possible that they failed to realise they could lose one of their own off the battlefield too. They’d never blame you; practically everyone there had considered it at least once, even if it was a nerve wracking thing to admit, especially when you’re supposed to be the strongest in the entire country.

You were doing better though, thriving despite the torment that followed you for far too long but still, they knew better than to just brush it off now that it was ‘over’.

Each of them had thought long and hard about it— what would they do if one of them was gone? This wasn’t a matter of it being ‘just how the military works’, this was like a piece of their heart being torn off. And they’d be damned if you didn't know how much it’d affect them, even moreso how much they need you.

Soap had slung his arm tightly around your shoulders that morning, taking the short moment of your surprise to etch your face into his memories forever. It wasn’t in the case he forgot it—no he would never— but he’d sketch you a million times over if it meant you’d smile his way again. “C’mon, take a morning run with me? Ye know I can't go alone.” As always, you agree, and he drags you along— even offering you his own jacket to combat the morning chill. The air is perfect as it washes over your face, the smell so fresh it wakes up your muscles instantly.

“Y’know i love you right?” Soap blurts out, and you blink in surprise again, making him burst out laughing. “Not like that, idiot. I love this, I love watching all your expressions and all your little comments during the day.”

The both of you slow to a stop, his words echoing around your head but you can't even stop him as he throws his arms around your shoulders, squeezing you so tight.

“I’m so glad you’re a part of the team, and don't get mad at me, kay? Price said i should let you talk about it if you wanna, but i just can't keep it in, ye know? I’m so proud of you for coming so far, you do so much on the daily and you fight so hard as it is— ”

He speaks so fast, his muscles clenching around you that you can hardly think straight until he has to stop to catch his breath. “Like i’d do anything for ya, ye know that right? I’ll squeeze ya so tight ye won't even breathe, and if yer feeling bad well.. i’ll get Gaz to cook something real good. I’d even kiss ya if ye asked me to.” Moving forward, he makes a kissy face at you, puckering his lips whilst you burst out laughing, using your strength to wriggle out his grasp and push him away from you.

“Ew, Soap!” You swat his prying hands away, still laughing so hard that your smile has grown wide again. There it is. He grins equally as big, now picking up a pace so much so that you have to run to evade him.

——

”You were doing well until you started chasing me.” You huff, still giggling and very grateful for his kind words— unfortunately he happened to make jokes when he got nervous, thus you were now panting from escaping his grasp.

“You guys stink. Did you roll around in the mud?” Gaz approaches the table you two sit at, setting down the breakfast tray he just collected. “No, that’s just Soap. I told him not to run in the muddy parts of the track.”

”It’s just a bit of dirt, not gonna kill ye.” He rolls his eyes before scarfing down the last of his own breakfast. “I’ve got some damn incident reports to deal with. I’ll see ya tonight.” He makes one more kissy face at you, making you throw your hands up in defense before he laughs and leaves the mess hall.

”So, are we still down to grab the snacks together?” Right, a movie night was the perfect way to spend this Saturday. “You bet.”

——

The nearest town to base wasn’t the biggest but thankfully it had a well-sized Tesco, so you were practically sorted. You head to the chocolate section first, searching for something to hopefully satisfy Soap’s sweet tooth. “Hmm.. I say we get skittles, sour obviously, and… aero. But the chocolate one.. or the mint one?.” You hum, balancing each of the chocolate bags in your arms before you turn around the corner towards the biscuit section, for Ghost and Price’s sake of course.

When your arms are stuffed and you’re barely balancing a bag of crisps beneath your chin, you turn your head back to where Gaz stands with the small trolley, only to see it full with all of your favourite snacks.”What’s all this?”

“Just picking out some snacks.” He pretends like it’s nothing out of ordinary, turning back to the shelves to grab your favourite canned drink as well. From sweets to crisps, even your favourite pastry is in there.. and gum??

“You don't even like these though; I'm like the only one who eats them..” You stare in confusion at one of your favourite fruits sitting in the trolley, whilst he only shrugs, picking another off the shelf. “So? You like ‘em and that’s what matters.”

“But—“

“Are you going to keep complaining or are you going to grab Ghost’s kettle chips?” He deadpans at you which immediately makes you huff in return, before walking down the aisles again in search of it.

By the time you get to packing the bags in the car, you’ve come to realise every item he picked out is something you like. Infact, everything here is. “Kyle, spill, now.” Rolling his eyes at your raised brow, he pulls the boot door down and takes your hand, pulling you over to the passenger side.

“You deserve to have everything you like, always, just like you make sure to do for us.” Gently, he pushes you into the seat, strapping you in before walking around to climb into the driver's seat himself. “Is it so hard to believe we want you to be happy? Now if you dont stop complaining, I'll just take them all for myself.”

“You don't even like them though?”

“I’ll eat it anyway if you’re gonna be acting all silly.”

“I am not acting silly, I—“ And he had just shoved one of the pastries he bought in your mouth, making you mumble and ultimately fail. “Yup, you’re just as proud as we are of your progress and so you’re going to eat that and every other treat I got you.”

———————————

You’re starting to catch on now, at least, kind of. To be fair, the team has always been pretty tight knit, it was only due to recent missions which had caused you to not be in close contact as per usual and thus those thoughts had eaten you up worse than usual. Either way, they’re ranking up the affection ten times more than usual, obvious by how even Ghost has now joined in.

It’s Friday, the day before the movie night where you can finally take a breath and just ignore the world for a moment. Since you’ve finished most of your paperwork and a quick workout in the gym seems like a good way to clear your head in preparation for a no-thinking night. There’s an absence of sound today, only the soft whir of a few younger soldiers on the treadmills. You’ll hop onto those last; your arms feel tight right now and so what’s better than some pushups to ease the strain?

Though, just as you push yourself up for the fifth time, you’re caught off guard by Ghost entering the room. That’s weird; he usually never comes this early in the day but you suppose with the current emptiness it’s fair. Still, you carry on with your workout, only taking a break after the twelth to drink some water.

“Here.”

You almost scream, hearing his voice cut through the silence followed by your full water bottle in his hand. He seems to notice the momentary shock, walking around to stand in front of you properly whilst you snap back to your senses. “Sorry.”

“Thanks, Ghost.. Just didn't expect the jumpscare after my workout.” You chuckle, and he only rolls his eyes, watching intently as you take a long sip of your drink. “Don’t usually see you this early here, how come?”

”Just stopped by.” Then he walked off again, out the room, an energy bar left by the side of your mat.

Initially you just passed it off— Ghost worked in weird ways sometimes and you weren’t one to question what he did if it didn’t cause a reason for concern. So, he had scared you again when you entered your quarters that evening to see him using your desk like it was his own. “Um, Ghost?” He let out a grunt in response, acknowledging you and yet still tapping away at his keyboard. “You gonna explain why you’re in my room?”

“Too cold in mine.” He mutters out, but you know that’s a lie because he’s never cared much for the cold. The one thing he does hate is being hot—specifically when he’s sweating buckets. So you just shrug it off, heading into your bathroom to get changed and brush your teeth. You spend around forty minutes getting ready for bed, and he doesn't really hesitate once, carrying on his work like he always barges into people’s rooms at this time.

When you finally sit on the bed, deciding what to do to relax before bed tonight, he stands, kicking his boots off and sits right beside you. “Oi, watch this.” Your eyes settle on the laptop placed before you, and within seconds you’re laughing at the video shown. Then another one, and another one, and soon your hand clutches Ghost’s arm, exasperated as you try catch your breath from how hard you’ve been laughing. He shifts it to other videos too, stupid people, silly animals, cute pets and soon enough you're both watching those documentaries of underwater creatures. You don't really get to question why he did it since you end up falling asleep, a small grin on your face from the sheer silliness experienced.

He doesn't mention it the next day, and it only really hits you at lunch but he’s gone when your eyes widen, leaving you pondering his reasoning in confusion.

—-----

Finally it’s Saturday, something that should’ve come far sooner than how long this week had dragged on. The time reads 20:30 as you enter the common room, already changed into your comfiest clothes which are totally not your pajamas. Ghost walks past you, going to help bring all the snacks from Gaz’s room. It was pretty smart to hide it there; if it was left it in the common room, Soap would’ve devoured at least three of the crisp bags before lunch.

“Took ya long enough to get here.” Price isn’t dressed down too much, but the sweater looks just warm enough for this weather and it makes you grin seeing him sink into the cushions. “Rookies at it again–had to break up another fight.” His eyes lock onto you as you walk around, settling into the couch, and he doesn't hesitate before pulling you right into his side. You grin as his warm hand tightens around your shoulder, his other hand on the remote that now flicks through Netflix.

“What d’ya wanna watch, hm? Your pick today.”

Infact, the tv already rests on your favourite, which is strange because you do not remember even letting him know that. A little sigh escapes you, feeling awkward with yourself since they’re all giving you so much love whilst you’ve done practically nothing–at least as far as you’re aware.

“Why are you doing all of this anyway?”It’s quiet, meek even, but most of all slightly guilty. You don't feel deserving of this. “I mean all of you.. This week..recently. You’ve been so attentive and I just- I don't see the need.”

That makes him sigh, but not in the disappointed ones you used to hear in your rookie days from the rude higher ups, or even in exasperation like he was fed up of explaining. He’d tell you a million times over, no matter when or where you asked. The sigh was fond, his arm properly resting around your shoulders and gently squeezing you. “I’m not gonna lie to you, we were all a little bit shaken after what we heard.” He watches your eyes widen, but quickly speaks before you can react.

“All of us know the stakes of this job.. But we should’ve acknowledged the strain on all of us– not just you. I’m just sorry you had to be the one pushed that far before we realised.”

“John..” You murmur, his eyes now locked on yours before you break it, looking forward again. “It wasn't to do with you all, not even the military. That’s on me, not all of you.” His thumb rubs your knees as you pull them up onto the couch, huddling right up as you think about everything that’s happened since the thoughts first began. How far you’ve come.

“Kid, the thought of you dying away from the battlefield, away from us, it’s nothing I ever want to experience. So no, I don't care if we were not the cause of it. It affected you, and we’re a team.” His lips curve into a small smile, albeit bittersweet yet filled with love nonetheless. “You should know everyday how proud I am of you and I’m sorry we haven't been able to do that for you.”

His eyes are locked directly on yours, and you can't break away from the determination in them. If there was one thing you were confident of, it was your Captain. Despite the insane skills this team was made up of, none of you would be where you were today if not for him. It’d be an insult to deny anything he was this confident in, and he was dead set on this. A hand slips into your locks, ruffling your hair as he smiles at your understanding silence. “I mean it. With all my heart.”

Impossible, that’s what it is, to deny the sniffle that slips out, then the next until your eyes are awfully wet and they’re leaking out down the curves of your cheeks onto your palms. Before he can say anything else, the others return, shocked as they see you with tears streaming. “Price– we left ye alone for five minutes!” Soap exclaims, unsure what to do when you’re just openly crying infront if them, loud sniffles echoing around.

“What did you even say? I swear if you said we weren't watching their favourite film–”

“Do you know how hard we’ve worked to keep ‘em happy?”

Giggles, raw laughter coming from your throat. They stare at you in shock again, making you snicker all the more, tears still dripping. “I wouldnt c-cry over that–”

“I said we’re proud of them.” Price grunts, glaring at them, before locking eyes with you again. “And that i wont take no for an answer.” He raises a playful brow at you, but his words– all their words over the past week– it’s enough to have you start properly sobbing right there. Price smirks, knowing he finally hit the nerve that was keeping you too rigid.

“He’s right ye know. And if you’re gonna keep cryin’ we cant watch the movie.”

Ghost glances at the two sergeants, who grin in return, before the three of them practically swarm you on the couch, squashing you right in the middle. Ghost slings his arm right around your shoulders, Soap squeezes between him and you to hug your middle and Gaz squashes himself between Price to hug your waist. Of course, you’re still ugly crying, smiling though as the thick tears roll down. “You guys are such idiots.”

—-

When you finally settle, you’re properly snuggled against Price, the third movie of the night playing. You’ve eaten too many snacks to even consider moving anymore, and Soap’s half leaning on you, Gaz following like a domino. Only Ghost has slept upright, leaning against the arm rest.

“You can sleep too you know.” Price hums, leaning against the arm rest himself, but you have a feeling he’s only saying that because he wants to fall asleep too. A small huff escapes you, snickering as you lazily wrap your arms around him, his arm tightening around your back before reaching up to pinch your cheek affectionately. “We can deal with the mess in the morning.” You hear a small yawn from him this time, his hand lazily patting your back as his eyes drift close. So you let yours do the same, warm and content.

COD MASTERLIST

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#simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #soap x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #john soap mctavish x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz x reader

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heedeungism · 1 year ago

Text

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love. he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze.

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, ��lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years.

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.”

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

#enhypen #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #niki x reader #ni-ki #niki x y/n #bridgerton au #historical au #friends to implied lovers #ni-ki enhypen #niki drabbles #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #niki bridgerton au #romance #bridgerton #riki 🩷

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yawnderu · 2 years ago

Text

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

"Can I hold her?" You dread the question. The way he asks it, the way he looks at you, the way you know he's going out of his comfort zone to come to your house, knowing you don't want him there.

"Sure." You put your pride aside, having the best interest of your baby in mind. The little girl is placed carefully in his arms, and it breaks your heart to see just how well she fits there, like a missing puzzle piece.

"She's so beautiful." He whispers, brown eyes fully focused on his daughter—his daughter. For someone who avoided the topic of family like the plague, the concept was still weird to even think about, despite the way the girl in his arms looked just like him when he was a baby, countless pictures hung around his house before they were permanently destroyed by his father in attempts to torment Mrs. Riley.

"What was that, Captain?" Simon crooned teasingly, leaning his head closer to the baby to try to understand the babbles that were slowly becoming more and more clear each passing week. Of course, she was still too young to talk, though the little girl loved babbling out at any given moment.

"She's lovely, isn't she? Shame she looks like you." Your words came out teasing for the first time ever since you saw him again, the banter in your previous friendship coming back for a second as he playfully glared down at you.

"Shame she acts like me too." He jested, the baby's mannerisms very reminiscent of his own. You poke your tongue out at him jokingly before looking back down at your daughter, the strings of your heart being pulled the more you stare at her. The little creature doesn't cry much, luckily, so you have all the time in the world to simply admire what you created— what you both created.

"Look at her tongue stickin' out." Simon pointed out to the baby's tiny tongue sticking out, a quiet laugh leaving his lips at the way she imitated you. You gently pinch her chubby cheek, planting a kiss on her forehead as a small laugh escapes you too. It's not hard for her to steal your heart, Simon noticed.

"Hush, darlin', daddy's busy flirtin' with mommy." He knows he's overstepping, but... it's worth the risk. He wants what you used to have back then, despite knowing he doesn't deserve it. He'll prove himself, Simon promised since the first time he saw you again.

"Just so you know, this—" You point between him, the baby, and you. "Doesn't mean we're together. Not a chance." You try to be stern, though you both can't deny the look in your eyes. Still, you resist, not wanting to be disappointed again. Simon leaving is an open wound that never healed.

"I know." He replied after a few seconds, not looking at you. His eyes were focused on the baby, holding her close to his chest as she cuddled up to him, quieting down from her babbling. He sat down on the couch, one of his fingers absent-mindedly running over the features of his daughter.

"I'm thinkin' of retiring within a year or two, once Makarov's dead." He starts hesitantly, not daring to look at you just yet.

"Do you think the three of us can be a family? I know I messed up, and I'm sorry." He finally looks up at you, though only for a short second before he's getting up again, gently putting the baby in her crib. He gives her a small plushie to cuddle, soft blanket wrapped over her tiny frame. He comes back to you, bare hands hesitantly reaching for yours before noticing you're about to recoil back. He doesn't blame you.

"I'll do anything." He swears, taking a step back to respect your personal space. You look away for a few seconds, arms crossed and a small frown on your lips. The thought of Simon leaving or dying is always there, eating at the back of your mind.

"You're retiring?" Is all you can ask, not bothering to hide the sheer curiosity and confusion. Simon has been a soldier since he was 18— it's all he knows. He has given up his entire life and family— why stop now?

"Yeah. Think it's time to slow down... actually live life a little, for once. I had to retire at some point, yeah?" It wasn't an easy choice at all. He has bled for the army countless times, lost his family because of it, lost so many allies he can't even count them in his head, yet the tiny girl was the one that made him realize enough is enough.

"Interesting." It's all you reply, eyes slightly narrowed as you look deep into his, seeking for any signs of hesitation or lying. You find none.

"I'm serious. I can be a father to her, and... a husband to you, if you let me. Just like you wanted." Just like you told him you wanted things to be. Just like he thought about before breaking up with you after 4 years.

"Don't have to give me an answer now, but I'm retirin' and that's final." He went to grab his backpack, pulling out a folder. He placed it in front of you gently before giving his sleeping daughter a soft kiss on the forehead, eyes fully focused on her as he memorized her features. It's gonna be a long time until he sees her again.

"I'm deploying in an hour." He mentioned, his back turned towards you as you read the papers. His will, updated to include your daughter. Previously, it was only you there.

"Not comin' back for a long while, unless things go well. If shit hits the fan..." He knows it's always a possibility when dealing with Makarov.

"You'll both have enough to live a good life." He was getting choked up. Not crying or tearing up, but uncomfortable enough that he was struggling to speak.

"Simon." You call out and he turns his head towards you, slight surprise in his features. It's the first time you call him Simon since he came back into your life— it used to be Ghost, much to his dismay, to place even more space between you. He never said anything about it.

"Something to keep your heart safe." You walk up to him, both of your hands holding one of his, placing a hard object in his palm. He looks down at it and his heart almost stops.

The ID bracelet your baby wore shortly after she was born. He nods his head once in acknowledgment, expression growing more determined as his fingers trace the outline of the plastic.

"Come back to her safe." Your hand hesitantly went to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead was against yours. He lets you, and you're both stuck looking deep into each other's eyes for what feels like forever.

"Come back to us." You plant a soft kiss to his forehead before letting go, basking in the slight sense of normalcy, ignoring your worthless pride for once. He leans down and returns the kiss to your forehead, nodding once. He stares down at you, memorizing your features the same way he did with your daughter before turning around and leaving, swearing to keep the silent promise with a newfound sense of determination.

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Taglist:

@skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf

#ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x y/n #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley #mw2 fanfic #mw2 fluff #simon ghost fluff #ghost fluff

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cinnamonest · 8 months ago

Text

Thinking about the humiliation ritual of being spread apart and gawked at. Just… looking, touching. Nothing intense or rough, even though you almost wish it was, anything other than this torment.

It's uncomfortable physically, not just mentally. Your wrists and ankles bound to the headboard, your legs pulled so far back your knees nearly touch your shoulders, spread wide open as you writhe on your back.

The lights are on. They're bright. They leave nothing obscured from view, nowhere to hide from any sense of shame.

You wish you were blindfolded, so you at least didn't have to see the scene playing out in front of you. But unfortunately, he decided your mouth was the only thing that had to be covered, leaving you unable to spew any spiteful words at him, only able to make the little sounds he enjoys with each touch.

You see how intensely he stares at you, completely exposed and vulnerable. You can trace the line of his sight, clearly distinguish each part of your body his eyes progressive fixate on, one after another. He likes how you squirm, how you're so clearly embarrassed, but so helpless to do anything about it.

It would be easier if he was doing something more. It would feel less vulnerable if he were inside you, even, the movement and heat of the moment at least creating a sort of distraction, interruption from the violation of his gaze.

Said gaze fixates on you breasts, the darker coloration, the way your nipples poke out so cutely from the chill of the exposure. You tense up and shudder when he pinches at them. Cute.

You shudder when he spreads you apart with his thumbs. Somewhere between fascination and arousal and awe. He just hasn't ever had the opportunity to see it up close, he says. To really take in the details.

Him feeling the need to comment makes it even more unbearable. The folds and the shape of it all, it's really pretty, aesthetic in a way that's difficult to articulate, he says. Feels like it's some sort of adornment, leading down to the slit — he says this as you feel his thumb slide into you, marveling at the way he can see you clench and spasm. He never realized how visible the clenching is, he's usually got his head down close to the crook of your neck when he's balls deep in you. He'll have to pay more attention from now on.

Look at how the fleshy part of your hips pokes out between his fingers when he grabs you. The way you shudder when his fingers trail over the folds — and the slick fluid that forms a trail connecting each finger as he spread them apart in front of your face. Just to make sure you get a good look at what your body is doing.

But beyond the fingers spread in front of your face, you can see that smug grin on his face, one that fills you with such rage that you can't help the tears that leak out of your eyes, can't help but snarl and jerk at the restraint, even though you know such a reaction only pleases him, encourages him.

And it does — you see the smile get wider, the soft laugh before he leans forward and kisses your forehead… and then, you jolt as you feel the awful wet sensation on the side of your face as he wipes the fingers off on your flesh, coating you with your own fluids.

You actually jerk your leg to the side hard enough to get a good heel-bash on his shoulder — but that too only makes him smile further.

What an wonderful new way to torment you, he's discovered. Your reactions only ensure that this won't be the only time.

#yan.txt

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stickyspeckledlight · 5 months ago

Note

“…..allow me to ask, how the fuck did you both manage to break into my house, yet alone find a way to come to my world, Jade and Floyd Leech?”

But, where else can we find a thing so interesting?

Note: I can’t decide if I should use shrimps or koebi-chan so….idk comment on which one I should use for future Floyd stuff lol. Also first time writing any yan twst! Let’s hope I get it right lmao

(Speckled's End of Year Interaction Prompts, 12/2/24 ~ 1/1/25)

“Oya,” Jade exclaimed, “What strong language, [Name]-san. And after all the struggle we went through to see you again?” He simpered, sorrow every bit as faked as his surprise, “I’m deeply hurt.”

Unlike Jade, Floyd didn’t bother with theatrics. “Aha! Koeeeeebi-chan!” Floyd cried out, laughing with pure merriment, lunging toward your person. You shriek, dodging his initial lunge, but Floyd is unfairly reflexive and fast. Before you can so much as sprint, your limbs are already being squeezed in his hold. You gasp breathlessly, struggling to even breathe with how tightly he’s holding you. The sloppy, messy kiss Floyd gives you immediately doesn’t help matters either; it’s all spit and possessiveness, tongue practically going down your throat and teeth sinking into your lips.

From where you struggle and choke, Floyd only squeals with even more delight. “Squeeeeezeeeeeee~ Koebi-chan’s soooo soft,” he laughs, rubbing his cheek against your head, all crushing softness and joy, “I missed having you around, y’know. Leaving me with all those boring guppies—” and his voice drops, and his head dips into your neck, “—I probably should kill you for doing that to me,” he mutters, sharp teeth grazing your skin. At your tensing and shivering, he only breaks into more laughter, mood swinging back into perverted joy.

“Floyd, be careful with the dear,” Jade lightly chastised, “The poor thing looks like they’ll faint at any moment now. It’d be a shame to end things as quickly as they started, no?” His words are far from kind, far from concerned, even. They are ever bit as pleasured as Floyd’s laughs, and serve only to remind him that there’s more fun to be had from this.

Floyd doesn’t immediately let you go, but his hold lightens enough to where you can breathe steadily enough. “You feelin’ better?” Floyd sweetly asks, like he wasn’t the one who put you in this state in the first place.

You attempt to free yourself, but even in Floyd’s loose(r) hold, there is no escape. Floyd doesn’t even seem to struggle at all, yawning even as your flails grow more desperate. Floyd looks at your wall and zones out, his interest in you momentarily waned. Jade lightly chuckles at your plight.

You growl in frustration, “At least answer my questions!” You seethe, glaring at them both and baring your teeth, “I thought we were done. I thought I would be rid of you! So why are you here to torment me again?!”

You had met Jade and Floyd after exams, when Azul’s plans to take Ramshackle for himself were underway. After his overblot, you thought you were free of the twins torment of you, but they only kept pursuing you—without any directive from Azul whatsoever. It made every moment from the on in Twisted Wonderland unbearable, and when Crowley found a way for you to come back home, you took it at that instant. Sure, it was a bit cold to leave behind everyone without any goodbye, but who could blame you? Fault you? It wasn’t like everyone else there wasn’t selfish either, all in their own ways.

Even when you weren’t in Twisted Wonderland though, the twins haunted your dreams. They fed into your paranoia, your refusal to make friends, to love and kiss and be a silly student—it took you years to rip yourself from their influence, but you did it. You built a life for yourself with your own hands, and even Jade and Floyd Leech could stop you.

Until now, that is.

In classic Jade fashion, he finds an avenue to easily avoid giving answers. You might never get those answers, at this rate. “Torment? You must be mistaken,” Jade tsks, “As I recall, we gave you only the best; as ‘lovers’ do, I might add.”

Indignity flares in your chest. “Bullshit! You threatened me and my friends! Isolated and stalked me!”

“Hah?” You violently gasp, having the air knocked out of you. Your eyes bludge; your tongue lolls; your ribcage compresses like it’s cheap plastic beneath Floyd’s arms. “Those anemones were better company than us?” Floyd darkly mumbles, before laughing again, “Then again, you left us before, so you’re pretty stupid. Your opinions and stuff can’t really be trusted anymore.”

As if he ever cared before.

Jade doesn’t chide his brother this time. He lets out an appreciative hum as you truly choke. A gloved finger delicately rests on your cheek bone, before more are added to cup your cheek. As your vision spots with black, you are only caressed. As your eyes beg for mercy, mercy that anyone dying would beg for, only a chaste peck is given to your bloody lips. As tears of pure fear for the life before you and the sheer despair of losing everything again stream from your eyes, only laughter, one gently cruel and the other excitably sadistic.

“It would be an issue if you found out how we arrived here,” Jade finally answered, playing with a strand of your hair. “As Floyd so graciously pointed out, your decision making process cannot be trusted at this time.”

As if they ever would.

“Worry not, [Name]-san,” Jade grins wider. It’s not a nice smile; his teeth peak from it, and that’s always been a sign that he’s ready to take a bite from you. A sign that, as you quickly predicted, has him dipping his face against your juglar. “You’ll want for nothing in our care. Even this ‘freedom,’ you so cherish…”

He darkly chuckles.

“We’ll make it so it won’t be something they want for much longer, right Floyd?”

Laughter consumes your world before you completely succumb to the pressure, fated to wake in captivity for the rest of your life.

#speckled end of year interaction prompts 2024 #yandere twst #Yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #Yandere Floyd leech #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #Yandere Jade leech x reader #Yandere Jade x reader #Yandere Floyd x reader #Yandere Floyd leech x reader

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theoutcastwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Try Again - Il Dottore x Reader

This is a vent fic. Let's just get that out of the way. I wrote this because I needed Dottore to do The Thing™. Don't read too much into this. The feelings will pass

"You've been staring at that journal for the past fifteen minutes," said Zandik, "what's the matter?"

You weren't sure it could be put into words - all the self-doubt that tormented you as of late, the thoughts that circled your mind every waking hour. Attempts had been made, in vain, to prepare a small speech in your head in case Zandik ever caught on. That, of course, he did, but you had nothing to say; not a single eloquent monologue to convey your insecurities in a way that would provoke understanding and not bewilderment.

I feel inadequate as of late. I don't feel like I'm wanted anywhere. Nothing I do matters anymore.

All miserable words that would have been met with a stern look, a simple "you are wanted by me; thus all that you do matters to me".

You tapped your pen against the empty page of your journal. You were desperate to say something, yet whatever it was that would eventually come out of your mouth already felt lacking. Nothing was enough.

"Talk to me," he urged, "you know there is nothing in this world that can't be solved. Tell me what bothers you."

You swallowed. "I feel as if I've lost all my skills. For writing, I mean. I can't come up with anything new and whatever ideas I have feel mediocre at best; uninteresting and aimless. I don't know, I..."

I think I should just give up.

The thought had crossed your mind countless times before. Wouldn't it be so much easier to abandon your work altogether? Why continue hurting yourself with this when you could simply let it all go?

You were tempted. Still, there was something that forced you to keep trying; something strange and incomprehensible that begged you not to give up this one thing that you knew.

Zandik pulled you out of your thoughts, "as far as I can tell - from what little I've seen of your scribbles - you've been writing the same themes over and over. What about trying something new?"

"I have tried. Nothing feels fitting."

"Then take a break. If I hit a dead end in my research I find something else to occupy my mind. Surely reading someone else's works will help you view your ideas from different perspectives?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. It all sounded so simple in theory - this issue should have been so easy to solve - yet nothing had worked. You felt as though you were stuck between four brick walls with no tools to break them down; nothing but your own fingernails to scrape them in hopes that someone would hear you from the other side.

"It doesn't feel so simple," you said softly.

"Why?"

"If I take a break now, I feel as if I'll only get worse." There came the first half of your horrifyingly vulnerable confession, and with it - a lump in your throat that came to embarrass you even further. You whispered the second half with enough shame to drown an entire nation: "If I don't push something out now, I'm afraid people will stop caring about me."

Zandik didn't spare you enough time to hide the tears that already clouded your vision; for he was by your side in the blink of an eye, gently pulling the journal out of your hands and hiding it behind his back.

"Why would you let such a thought become your truth?"

He laced his fingers with yours, wiped at the stray tears on your cheeks with the other hand. His glove rubbed against your skin in a way that was more uncomfortable than soothing but you made no move to stop him. Zandik continued to soothe you in the way he knew best.

"There's no race to run, do you understand? If you keep telling yourself that you'll become spoiled lest you write now, you'll never be able to see your brilliance as I do."

Zandik's eyes softened when you weakly squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Thank you, you wanted to say, for seeing in me everything that I do not.

"Everything comes and goes; just as dusk turns to dawn without waiting for you to keep up." Zandik placed a tender kiss on your knuckles, "so don't let one difficult moment define you, my dear."

#me every time i feel bad: hey what if i pretended that dottore was being nice to me about it #works like a charm every time #i wrote this at 1 am so uhh yeah im gonna go sleep #ly zandik #il dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x reader #zandik x reader #il dottore #dottore #zandik #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #my writing #theoutcastwrites

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thewritetofreespeech · 7 months ago

Note

Pleaseeeee bg3 companion masturbation hcs there’s not enough

Astarion

Doesn’t masturbate. Since he can’t really ‘get it up’ without feeding like most vampires, he doesn’t have morning wood that needs to be taken care of. But, more importantly, he doesn’t find sexual gratification actually gratifying. Since it has been the source of his torment, his humiliation, and shame for so many years, he would rather just ignore it. When he refinds intimacy with Tav he tries it but thinks that ‘self-service’ is just not all that interesting.

Gale

Before the orb, Gale would masturbate regularly just for release and amusement. ‘Get the juices flowing’ kind of wank. After the orb, he’s too scared to be that stimulated. Despite his research Gale is not convinced that any extra excitement might set him off. He can’t risk it. So Gale has been in totally celibacy for some time. In his sleep, he would rub against his sheets or clothes. Desperate for friction & touch before he woke up and remembered he couldn’t. When he’s finally given his reprieve with Elminster’s spell, it’s one of the first things he does when he’s in private. One, to make sure his celibacy hadn’t ‘ruined’ anything for him long term. Two, for release. And finally three, so he doesn’t embarrass himself with Tav.

Lae'zel

Has never masturbated and does not know the meaning of the word when first told of the subject. Once explained, Lae’zel just huffs at the absurdity. Should she need release, she would find a suitable partner of willing & similar urges to quell her desires with. To use ones own hand that would hold Vlaakith’s silver is humiliating and speaks ill of their value to their Crèche if no one would lay with them. It’s one of the reasons she is so aggressive with Tav in her ‘confession’. Yes, she wants them, but also she needs release too.

Shadowheart

Of two minds on the subject. On the one hand, it feels good and there are clearly some benefits to it. On the other, masturbation is considered self-indulgent and looked down on by Shar. Though chastity is not necessarily part of the faith, relationships and sex distract from the Lady of Loss. All must be given for Shar’s blessing. Including all pleasure. Yet, despite this, Shadowhearts hand does slip past her sleep pants at night. Quiet as a mouse. Skilled hands quick & efficient as to not raise suspicion on its movements. Says extra prayers in the morning after.

Wyll

Wyll used to do it a normal amount for a young man, but after his contract with Mizora he more or less stopped. He could never be sure but he always suspected that she was watching him. Convinced that that was the case he limited himself rather strictly; it certainly made his fencing that much better, as he only had one sword to play with now. When he does, Wyll very rarely ‘indulges’ in it. Tries to get it finished as quickly as possible. Spits in his hand, jerks at his cock, cums, done & done. After his transformation he barely does it at all. Finding his new body unsettling for a time.

Halsin

Despite his inflated sex drive, Halsin doesn’t masturbate all that often anymore. Most of that is due to his entire focus on the Shadow Curse. Consumed by it so much that he rarely took time for sexual release, or even partners. In his youth, he was more prolific at it. Masturbated daily, if he didn’t have a partner available, to the point that he would get irritated if he couldn’t do it. He would also try all manners of technique when doing it. Not just focused on his cock, but all parts of his body for pleasure. One of the few who also desires mutual masturbation with his partner.

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Tommy POV, wc: 2890, full version on ao3

Tommy Hagan is not jealous of Eddie Munson.

He’s not.

There’s nothing to be jealous of, in his opinion, and Tommy probably wouldn’t be thinking about him at all if Eddie wasn’t the most publicly well known member of his graduating class – well, he hadn’t actually been in his graduating class, Tommy supposes.

They had been seniors at the same time, though.

If Tommy happened to be jealous of anything – and that’s a big if – it would probably have something to do with the famous thing. Everyone has a small part of them that wants to be famous at least in some capacity, he’s pretty sure, even if Eddie isn’t really, truly famous – not like the red carpet celebrities. He’s a writer. Even the most well known writers never get all that much attention, but Munson has his own Wikipedia page, and that’s more than anybody else from Hawkins, Indiana can say. Hawkins itself barely even has a Wikipedia page, and it’s only because of all the atrocities that happened in town in the mid-eighties.

Tommy hadn’t been around for the end of it all – the earthquake-slash-serial killer situation that never made any sense to him. He remembers his mom calling him at his college dorm when the deaths first started. He remembers her asking, “You went to school with that Munson boy, right? Do you think he could do something like this?”

And Tommy had been twenty and a total moron, so he’d said some dumb shit like, “Yeah, he’s into freaky stuff like that. Somebody should’ve put him on a list ages ago,” even though four years of experience told him that Eddie was all bark, no bite. Tommy hadn’t been surprised at all by the statements that later came out clearing Eddie's name, and by then his parents had already high-tailed it out of Hawkins so it all sort of became irrelevant to him.

Tommy never even returned to Hawkins one single time after he left for college (barring his high school reunion, obviously), and twenty years after graduation, he doesn’t really think about those years all that much.

He doesn’t love the person he’d been in high school. He was whiny and immature and had his priorities all messed up. Most of the memories he has of his teenage years, he looks back at and cringes, feels a whole lot of shame and embarrassment, but also some pride at how much he’s grown over the last twenty years. He also knows he’d been kind of a dick in high school, but that he’s less ashamed of. It’s normal, he knows, for kids to be mean, that it’s a standard response to being untreated kindly in other ways. Like, his dad had been an asshole to him as a kid, always on him about his grades and his smart mouth and how he’d no longer been a standout on any of his sports teams after starting high school, and Tommy had coped with that by poking kids beneath him at school.

It’s just the pecking order of high school. It’s normal.

Even now, when Tommy’s son had dealt with some pricks in the year above him shoving him around, he had come home from school and tormented his little sister for a while – it’s normal, no matter how much his wife had tried to convince him it was something that needed addressing. It’s just kids being kids. They grow out of it eventually, just like Tommy had.

Occasionally he wonders where the kids he’d spent all those years with in the Hawkins public school system had ended up, but these days the internet makes that pretty damn easy to figure out.

He’s learned Tina got married and had kids real young. She still lives in Indiana. Carol, who he’d split up with before heading off to college, lives in Alabama now and she’s got kids and a husband too. Jonathan Byers is a photographer in California – Tommy isn’t into all that art-y crap, so he has no clue if he’s any good, but he definitely recognizes some of the organizations he’s worked for and if that’s any indication, Tommy would wager he’s not too shabby. No wife, though, he noted, so he’d either been right about Byer’s being a queer, or women just found him repulsive (admittedly, Tommy leans more towards the former – he’s a photographer). Tammy Thompson still lives in Tennessee, though it doesn’t seem like she does music anymore (husband, kids, blah blah blah).

If he’s honest, the only person Tommy is actually interested in tracking down is Steve Harrington, and he’s the one person Tommy can’t find a single trace of online. No MySpace, no Facebook, no weird blog thing, nothing.

Vaguely, he wonders if Steve might be dead. A truly massive proportion of Hawkins had died over just a few short years in the mid-eighties. Maybe Harrington was one of them.

Tommy doubts it.

He would have known.

Steve’s parents would have made sure everyone knew if their son had died. Funnily enough, Steve’s mom is actually on Facebook, and pretty actively too, but there’s no sign of Steve anywhere on her page.

He hadn’t even shown up for their high school reunion in the winter of ‘04, which is odd because Tommy had been certain he would.

He doesn’t obsess over it – he really doesn’t. It’s just a thought that pops into his mind every now and then – where the hell is Steve Harrington?

In the late spring of 2007, he gets his answer.

“Tom,” his wife says, “That guy from your high school is on the cover of this magazine.”

He knows without asking for clarity that it’s Munson – no other person makes sense – and when he eventually gets his hands on the magazine, he finds that he’s correct.

Eddie Munson is on the cover of a magazine because, apparently, he published another book.

Truthfully, Tommy already knew that.

It’s his fourth book (which, for the record, Tommy hadn’t known until he knew it because it’s not like he’s keeping tabs on this guy or whatever), and it’s been getting a whole bunch of mainstream attention after a controversial landing on the top of all those book charts Tommy doesn’t follow despite featuring a gay love store amidst all his normal fantasy crap. It sparked a whole debate about banning books and everything (dumb, Tommy knows, because if he learned anything in business school it’s that if you really don’t want something to exist, the best thing you can do is not funnel money and attention into it).

Tommy does, in fact, watch the news so he’d already caught wind of all this – it’s part of the reason he can’t shake the guy – and it’s why Eddie Munson is on the cover of this magazine (because, seriously, nobody gives a shit about writers until it hits the news).

He allows himself a moment to look at the cover, to look at Eddie, who apparently goes by Ed now. Tommy is loath to admit it, but he looks good. His hair is normal and he’s grown into his frame, not all long and lanky and gangly limbs like Tommy remembers from school. He looks well-fed, confident, happy.

He looks good.

Tommy thumbs through the first few pages of the magazine until he reaches Eddie’s interview, and, again, he allows himself to look over the photo of him that takes up nearly three-quarters of the first page even if he has no intention of actually reading the article itself because, again, Eddie looks good (and maybe there’s something about the scruff of facial hair along his jaw that Tommy's eye gets stuck on). Tommy’s allowed to say that men look good when it’s true – it’s 2007, as his wife likes to remind him whenever it’s convenient for her, and if she’s allowed to say that Angelina Jolie looked good in that CIA movie, then Tommy is allowed to say that Eddie Munson looks good here.

When Tommy flips to the next page, he’s met with a photo that stops him in his tracks, has his feet frozen to the floor because –

Jesus Christ, that’s Steve Harrington.

Fuck, okay, so he’s reading this fucking article.

It takes Tommy a long time to get through it, honestly. Eddie comes out in the article, which might be a big deal, might not (and he doesn't care to be enlightened, thanks). He keeps getting distracted by the pictures scattered throughout it.

The pictures of Steve, mostly.

Because, well, if Eddie Munson looks good, Steve…

Steve looks alive.

Tommy didn’t realize it until this exact moment, but Steve had existed in his head for the last two decades as the eighteen-year-old he’d been the last time they were in the same room together. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him that Steve’s been aging this whole time too, just like Tommy has.

It’s undeniable that Steve is older.

His hair is starting to go gray at his temples (it’s the only thing that’s changed about his hair since he’s still styling it the same as he did in high school – because why mess with a good thing, Tommy supposes) and he’s got just the hint of crow's feet around his eyes when he smiles. He’s smiling in all the photos – every damn one – and it has Tommy struck by how unbelievably happy Steve seems. It’s an effect that somehow both takes years off the age Tommy knows he is and shines a light on just how good those years must have been for him.

There’s no solo shots of him like there are for Munson – though according to the article, it's actually Harrington now – and only half the photos are in color. The rest of them – the more candid ones – are smaller and left in black-and-white.

The one that caught Tommy’s eye first – because it was meant to, he’s pretty sure; it takes up half the page – is right in that sweet spot between staged and candid where Steve and Eddie both know that they’re being photographed even though neither of them are actually posing. Eddie is grinning at Steve in a wicked way that still feels familiar to Tommy even two decades since he’d last seen it on him (probably swaggering around the cafeteria like a total jackass – not that Tommy would know anything about that). Steve is grinning right back at him with a smile Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Or maybe he has, but not on this version of his face, not since Steve was as young as his oldest daughter.

Just as the author of the article said, the photos don’t show the faces of Steve’s children, either leaving them artfully out-of-focus or choosing shots where they’re turned away from the camera, but they’re still present, and it makes the whole spread almost feel like a photo album in a way, like it should be private but instead was published for the whole world to see.

Steve has three of them – kids, Tommy means. He didn’t know that Steve was a family kind of guy. It makes sense though, when he thinks about it. Steve’s parents were kind of a nightmare — present in the worst ways, and absent in the worst ways too (though it hadn’t seemed that way when Tommy was a teenager looking for a failsafe party house). He'd always felt kind of bad for the guy. Like, Tommy's dad had been a total piece of work, but they'd at least been around, and he'd stuck around long enough for them to sort out their issues at least most of the way, and these days he's a pretty kickass grandpa to Tommy's children.

Tommy wonders about Steve's parents now, wonders if they maybe came around like his own parents had, but then he remembers Mrs. Harrington's Facebook page and how there's not a damn trace of her son on there, never mind three grandchildren.

Tommy isn't sure he wants to touch that.

Steve is probably a really good dad, Tommy decides. He’d been kind of that way when they were friends — Steve used to say he wasn’t all that bright, but he always had a freaky sixth sense for reading people, for caring about them in exactly the way they needed.

There's one photo where Steve is managing to holding his youngest daughter — a tiny little baby still — and her bottle in one arm (that's a level-three dad hold, Tommy knows). The bottle is angled in a way that obscures her face, and Steve's other hand is being tugged on by another daughter, this one with a mop of curly brown hair remarkably similar to Eddie's when it was still long.

That's another thing Tommy won't let himself think about, (because he knows if did he'd start wondering if any of those kids were half-Steve).

Anyways, Tommy doesn't need glance to see that Steve wears fatherhood like a favorite sweater.

There’s something about this, about seeing these pictures, about the way Tommy is getting an answer to that question he’s had for years about where his childhood best friend has been all these years, that is making him feel like his ribcage is being split open, bones splintering and shattering as everything vulnerable inside his chest in suddenly out for display.

He probably should feel uncomfortable, right? Like, a guy he’d been seriously close to growing up — sleepovers and gym locker rooms and all that shit — had turned out to be gay. If his own son came home from school saying that his best friend came out or whatever as gay…well, again, it’s 2007, and Tommy doesn’t think his wife would allow him to denounce the friendship entirely, but there certainly wouldn’t be any sleepovers anymore. He thinks that’s pretty reasonable.

What was the likelihood that Steve had been, like, into Tommy?

And that should be an uncomfortable notion too, and in a sense, it kind of is, but not necessarily in the way he would expect.

He just doesn’t understand why all this feels so much like a loss because he knows that he hasn’t really lost anything – not since he got his hands on the magazine, anyways. Steve Harrington hasn’t played any sort of role in Tommy’s life since their final falling out in 1984, and as far as he’s aware, having a falling out with a close friend is pretty much a guaranteed part of growing up. His wife even experienced something similar when her own grade school best friend suddenly stopped answering calls and stopped reaching out after they’d started college – and his wife is basically the nicest person Tommy has ever known, so…it happens to even the best.

It’s just…Steve had always continued to exist in Tommy’s life in a way, even if he wasn't physically present, and maybe Tommy had figured it could be the same for Steve too, that maybe he sometimes wonders where Tommy is, wonders what he’s up to.

This article and these photos makes it pretty fucking clear that Tommy doesn’t even exist in the same galaxy as the life Steve is living.

And that’s not to mention the Eddie fucking Munson of it all.

Tommy had been kind of ignoring the Eddie of it all until he couldn’t ignore it anymore, because he doesn't care about Eddie Munson.

He'd never cared, but he'd spent years seeing the guy's face and his name everywhere, and now it feels like a sick joke, like he's the piece of Steve left in Tommy's life.

If the article is accurate (and he has no reason to believe it isn’t), Steve and Eddie have been together for longer than Tommy has even known his wife. Steve has been with Eddie for longer than Steve was ever friends with Tommy – not by a lot, but still more. That’s a long fucking time, and it’s clear as day on both of their faces that they’re just as in love with each other fourteen years in as they were on day one.

It’s not just Steve, and it’s not just Eddie, and it’s not one more than the other. It’s both of them.

There’s one photo in particular – a small black-and-white one that keeps pulling Tommy’s attention.

It’s another candid shot, taken from a bit of a distance. In it, Steve has Eddie boxed in against the counter in what has to be their kitchen. Eddie is leaning back against the edge of the granite countertop and looking at Steve with something sappy and fond on his face, and Steve’s hands are this close to grabbing Eddie’s waist as he looks at him the exact same way.

It’s shit out of a fairy tale or something, and sure, maybe someone could argue that they’re laying it on thick just for the sake of the magazine or whatever, but Tommy knows Steve Harrington and that look on his face is more real than Tommy had ever seen in all the years he'd known him.

So maybe Tommy has a reason or two (or three or four) to be jealous of Eddie Munson.

#unreliable narrator!tommy hagan my beloved #the ao3 version has the interview btw #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan

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